THE  TYPES  OF  ENGLISH  LITERATURE 

UNDER    THE    GENERAL   EDITORSHIP   OF 

a.  Jfietf?  on 


THE  POPULAR  BALLAD.  By  Professor  Francis  B.  Gummere 
of  Haverford  College. 

THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROGUERY.  By  Professor  F.  W. 
Chandler  of  the  University  of  Cincinnati. 

TRAGEDY.  By  Professor  A.  H.  Thorndike  of  Columbia  Uni 
versity. 

THE  ENGLISH  LYRIC.  By  Professor  Felix  E.  Penciling  of 
the  University  of  Pennsylvania. 

SAINTS'  LEGENDS.  By  Professor  Gordon  Hall  Gerould  of 
Princeton  University. 

IN  PREPARATION 

THE  ALLEGORY.  By  Professor  William  A.  Neilson  of  Harvard 
University. 

LITERARY  CRITICISM.  By  Professor  Irving  Babbitt  of  Har 
vard  University. 

THE  SHORT  STORY,  MEDIEVAL  AND  MODERN.  By  Pro 
fessor  W.  M.  Hart  of  the  University  of  California. 

THE  MASQUE.  By  Professor  J.  W.  Cunliffe  of  Columbia 
University. 

CHARACTER  WRITING.  By  Professor  Chester  N.  Greenough 
of  Harvard  University. 

THE  NOVEL.  By  Professor  J.  D.  M.  Ford  of  Harvard  Uni 
versity. 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


ESSENTIALS  OF  POETEY 


ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

flotoeli  Secture&  1911 


BY 


WILLIAM   ALLAN  NEILSON 

PROFESSOR   OF   ENGLISH   IN 
HARVARD   UNIVERSITY 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
CamfariDge 


•>lf  >a 

COPYRIGHT,     1912,  BY  WILLIAM   ALLAN  NEILSON 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


TO  MY  MOST  SEVERE  CRITIC 


'67593 


PREFACE 

THE  point  of  view  maintained  in  the  present 
volume  was  reached  in  the  course  of  discussions 
with  a  class  of  students  of  English  literature 
in  Harvard  University.  Much  of  whatever 
value  the  ideas  here  presented  may  possess  is 
due  to  the  questions  and  criticisms  offered  by 
members  of  the  class,  and  by  a  few  friends  to 
whom  they  have  been  submitted.  The  form  in 
which  they  now  appear  is  practically  that  in 
which  they  were  delivered  as  lectures  at  the 
Lowell  Institute  in  the  spring  of  1911.  I  have 
taken  some  pains  to  remove  the  more  obvious 
traces  of  oral  delivery,  but  I  fear  that  it  has 
not  been  possible  to  disguise  altogether  the 
didactic  tone  due  to  their  academic  origin. 

The  problem  of  the  essential  nature  of 
poetry  may  be  approached  from  many  direc 
tions,  and  I  wish  to  make  it  clear  that  I  realize 
that  from  other  angles  other  analyses  may  be 
made  with  an  equal  claim  to  validity.  The 
choice  of  the  present  angle  was  determined 
largely  by  the  desire  to  arrive  at  some  clear 
and  consistent  conception  of  the  essence  of 
Romanticism.  In  some  of  the  most  vigorous 


viii  PREFACE 

critical  writing  of  the  day  there  appears  a 
tendency  to  charge  this  phase  of  art  with  the 
whole  burden  of  modern  artistic  sins,  and  it 
has  seemed  to  me  that  in  this  attack  there  was 
evident  a  serious  lack  of  discrimination  among 
the  various  elements  roughly  grouped  under 
the  term.  In  attempting  to  separate  these  ele 
ments  and  to  decide  which  of  them  could  be  re 
garded  as  really  Romantic  in  any  coherent  sense 
of  the  word,  I  found  it  necessary  to  come  to  an 
understanding  also  with  respect  to  such  terms 
as  Classic,  Realistic,  and  Sentimental;  and 
the  conclusion  of  the  investigation  yielded  the 
view  of  the  constituents  of  poetry  which  this 
volume  presents.  I  am  not  without  hope  that 
some  contribution  has  been  made  towards  that 
freeing  of  terminology  from  ambiguity  which 
is  so  necessary  for  the  further  progress  of 
literary  criticism. 

BUCHENBERG  IM   ScHWABZWALD, 

August,  1911. 


f 


CONTENTS 

I.  THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES 1 

'II.  IMAGINATION  IN  POETRY 33 

III.  IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM 49 

-IV.   REASON  AND  CLASSICISM 100 

-V.  THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM  ....  136 

-VI.  INTENSITY  IN  POETRY 168 

VII.  SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY 204 

VIII.  HUMOR  IN  POETRY 242 

CONCLUSION 268 

INDEX .  275 


ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   BALANCE    OF    QUALITIES 


MODERN  literary  criticism  has  busied  itself 
much  with  the  definition  of  poetry.  Here  was 
a  problem  essayed  by  Aristotle,  treated  from 
varying  points  of  view  by  the  Roman  rhetori 
cians,  by  the  critics  of  the  Renascence,  by 
the  rule-mongers  of  the  neo-classical  period ; 
yet,  when,  over  a  hundred  years  ago,  criticism 
and  the  appreciation  of  literature  entered  on 
a  new  phase,  a  sound  basis  in  the  form  of  a 
clear  understanding  of  the  essential  qualities 
of  poetry  was  still  found  to  be  lacking.  The 
attempts  of  Wordsworth  and  of  Coleridge 
came  as  near  success  as  those  of  any  of  their 
predecessors ;  yet  these  failed  of  any  wide  ac 
ceptance  among  their  contemporaries;  and  the 
critics  of  the  later  nineteenth  century  con 
tinued  the  quest  with  unabated  zeal.  No  gen 
eral  agreement,  however,  can  be  said  to  have 


2  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

been  arrived  at ;  and  recently  the  discussion 
has  tended  to  sheer  off  in  two  different 
directions,  leaving  the  main  issue  for  the 
moment  unsettled.  Just  as,  in  the  Eliza 
bethan  time,  Sir  Philip  Sidney  ignored  the 
question  of  the  essential  nature  of  poetry,  and, 
assuming  that  to  be  known,  sought  to  ward 
off  the  attacks  of  the  Puritans  by  a  dithy 
ramb  in  celebration  of  the  poet's  high  aims 
and  glorious  achievements,  so  the  writer  of 
to-day  meets  contemporary  interests  either  by 
turning  aside  to  search  for  the  physiological 
basis  of  all  aesthetic  enjoyment,  poetry  in 
cluded  ;  or,  taking  poetry  as  coextensive  with 
rhythmical  or  metrical  utterance,  pursues  the 
trail  of  origins  into  the  misty  regions  of  prim 
itive  culture.  Contributions  of  much  scientific 
and  historic  interest  have  already  been  made 
by  scholars  along  both  of  these  lines;  but  for 
the  common  reader  of  poetry,  eager  for  an  in 
sight  that  will  clarify  and  intensify  his  plea 
sure,  something  less  remote  from  his  immediate 
conditions  is  still  to  be  desired. 

A  final  definition  of  poetry  is  not  to  be  ex 
pected,  now  or  at  any  future  time.  For  poetry 
is  not  simple,  but  a  compound  of  various  ele 
ments;  and  the  relative  importance  of  these 


THE   BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES 

elements,  even  the  leadership  among  them, 
varies  from  age  to  age  with  the  changes  of 
taste  and  prevailing  temperament  that  charac 
terize  the  lettered  as  much  as  the  fickle  mul 
titude.  They  vary  not  only  from  age  to  age, 
but  from  class  to  class,  from  group  to  group, 
and  from  man  to  man.  The  men  of  the  age 
of  Queen  Anne  demanded  and  responded  to 
stimuli  widely  different  from  those  that  had 
stirred  their  forefathers  under  Elizabeth,  or 
those  that  were  to  stir  their  descendants  in  the 
days  of  Wordsworth  and  Scott;  the  men  who 
cared  for  the  Lyrical  Ballads  were,  for  the 
most  part,  different  in  taste  and  temperament 
from  those  that  acclaimed  The  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel.  Yet  this  is  not  to  say  that 
what  was  poetry  for  one  was  not  poetry  for 
the  other,  or  to  run  to  the  extreme  that  denies 
the  existence  of  all  permanent  criteria. 

The  dilemma  here  suggested  has  often  been 
stated,  and  the  history  of  criticism  may  be 
read  as  an  alternation  between  the  men  who 
held,  in  effect,  that  poetry  is  one  thing, — 
what  the  majority  like,  what  the  elect  like,  or, 
oftenest,  what  /  like,  —  and  those  who  aban 
doned  as  hopeless  the  search  for  a  standard 
of  judgment,  and  were  fain  to  admit  that 


4  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

what  any  man  found  to  be  poetry  was  poetry 
to  him. 

What  is  here  proposed  is  a  way  out  of  this 
?  dilemma.  If  poetry  be  regarded  not  as  a  sim- 
pie  product  with  one  essential  element,  other 
qualities  being  merely  accidental,  but  as  a 
composite  of  a  limited  number  of  elements, 
whose  proportions  are  variable  but  whose  pre- 
sence  is  constant,  it  is  possible  to  face  the  facts  * 
of  the  variations  of  taste  and  of  appeal  with-  * 
out  losing  faith  in  some  identity  of  substance,  c 
This  will  not,  of  course,  give  us  such  a  stand- 
ard  of  judgment  as  will  enable  us  to  make  an 
absolute  ranking  of  all  the  poets  of  the  world ; 
for  such  a  ranking  involves  a  degree  of  sta 
bility  of  taste  and  temperament  that  no  public 
is  likely  to  reach,  nor,  indeed,  that  any  indi 
vidual  is  likely  to  maintain.  But  it  will  make 
it  possible  to  state  with  some  degree  of  in 
telligibility  the  causes  why  a  given  poem  or 
an  individual  poet  has  appealed  to  a  certain 
audience,  and  why  a  given  age  and  nation  has 
produced  a  certain  type  of  poetry.  Further, 
in  those  cases  where  the  consensus  of  all  ages 
and  all  types  of  critic  affirms  a  great  master 
or  a  great  masterpiece,  it  will  become  illumi 
nating  to  observe  the  relative  proportions  in 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  5 

which  the  constituent  elements  of  poetry  are 
there  to  be  found;  and  a  possibility  arises  of 
drawing  therefrom  criteria  for  the  testing  of 
contemporary  judgments  and  the  correction 
of  individual  taste. 

II 

The  labels  attached  to  schools  and  periods 
in  the  history  of  literature  are  convenient  de 
vices  for  marking  off  certain  broad  general 
distinctions.  But  their  use  often  results  in  a 
kind  of  misconception  analogous  to  that  pro 
duced  through  defining  poetry  by  isolating 
one  of  its  elements.  The  definitions  given 
of  such  words  as  Classical  and  Romantic,  or 
Medieval  and  Renascence,  have  often  led  the 
student  to  view  literary  phenomena  as  possess 
ing  a  simplicity  quite  alien  to  the  real  nature 
of  such  things.  Were  such  words  used  only 
to  describe  tendencies,  the  danger  might  not 
be  so  great ;  but  when  they  are  applied  to 
periods  it  should  always  be  remembered  that 
what  they  describe  is  not  the  whole  content 
of  the  period,  but  at  best  only  its  dominating 
characteristic.  For  the  qualities  and  tenden 
cies  indicated  by  such  terms  as  those  just  in 
stanced  are  permanent  and  persistent  through* 


6  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

out  all  periods  and  schools.  Their  forms  and 
manifestations  alter,  and  cause  confusion 
among  critics  who  would  measure  by  rules  of 
thumb  the  utterances  of  the  human  spirit; 
but  the  same  forces  not  only  recur,  but  con 
tinuously  endure.  As  a  theory,  this  has  often 
been  recognized  by  literary  historians;  yet 
their  books  still  profess  to  describe  "  the  be 
ginnings  of  classicism  "  and  "  the  beginnings 
of  romanticism,"  terms  which,  if  ever  appli 
cable,  belong  only  to  the  dawn  of  civilization. 
If  the  exigencies  of  text-book-making  demand 
that  history  be  divided  into  epochs,  let  it  be 
remembered  not  only  that  no  hard  lines  sepa 
rate  these  epochs,  but  that  the  characteristics 
which  are  used  to  mark  them  exist  before  and 
after,  and  are  chosen  for  emphasis  only  because 
they  dominate,  but  do  not  extinguish,  other 
characteristics  which,  for  the  time,  happen  to 
be  exhibited  with  less  strength  or  frequency. 
This  limitation  of  the  prevalent  characteris 
tic  may  be  carried  still  farther.  Not  only  is 
no  period  purely  Classical  or  purely  Romantic, 
but  no  writer  who  has  expressed  his  person 
ality  with  any  fullness  is  purely  Classical  or 
purely  Romantic.  Pope  and  Johnson  had  their 
Romantic  moments  as  surely  as  Wordsworth 


THE   BALANCE  OF   QUALITIES  7 

and  Keats  their  classical.  And  this  is  due  to 
the  fact  that  these  terms  indicate  effects  of 
which  the  varying  proportions  of  the  constitu 
ent  elements  of  poetry  are  the  cause. 

Ill 

This  view  receives  corroboration  from  an 
other  fact  which  is  not  likely  to  be  questioned 
upon  reflection:  that  the  supremely  great 
writers,  and  the  recognized  masterpieces  even 
of  writers  usually  of  the  second  class,  are 
especially  difficult  to  label  with  the  catch 
words  of  any  of  the  schools.  It  is  in  a  man 
like  Dekker,  for  example,  that  one  finds  Eliz 
abethan  Romanticism  most  clearly  exhibited; 
Shakespeare  is  too  much  besides ;  it  is  Gotz 
von  Berlichingen,  not  Faust,  that  serves  as 
the  convenient  specimen  of  a  movement. 
"  Perhaps,"  says  a  modern  writer,  a  propos  of 
ethics,  "  all  theories  of  practice  tend,  as  they 
rise  to  their  best,  as  understood  by  their  worthi 
est  representatives,  to  identification  with  each 
other."  A  somewhat  similar  statement  could 
be  made  of  theories  of  art,  and  illustrated  by 
works  of  art.  It  is  the  lesser  men,  or  the  greater 
men  in  their  immaturity  or  in  their  decline, 
who  show  extreme  tendencies  and  invite  nick- 


8  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

names.  The  supreme  artists  at  their  best  rise 
above  conflicts  and  propaganda,  and  are 
known,  not  by  the  intensity  of  their  partisan 
ship,  but  by  the  perfection  of  their  balance. 
They  show  the  virtues  of  all  the  schools  ;  and 
in  them  each  virtue  is  not  weakened,  but  sup 
ported,  by  the  presence  of  others  which  the 
lesser  men  had  supposed  to  be  antagonistic. 

This  situation  points  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  tendencies  thus  balanced  in  great  art  are 
in  themselves  perfectly  sound,  however  they 
may  at  times  seem  vicious  in  the  work  of  the 
inferior  artists ;  that  what  has  sometimes  made 
Classicism  seem  a  barrenness  and  Romanticism 
a  disease,  is  not  the  positive  element  in  either, 
but  the  lack  of  the  supporting  and  balancing 
qualities,  and  the  loss  of  truth  or  beauty  con 
sequent  upon  the  disproportion.  The  contro 
versial  critic  who  indulges  in  tirades  against 
either  Classicism  or  Romanticism  as  the  root  of 
all  artistic  evil,  is  himself  guilty  of  the  vi£$  he 
is  actually,  though  unconsciously,  attacking  ;N 
for  he  fails  to  see  that  it  is  not  the  essential  )  f 
element  in  either  of  these  tendencies  that 
rouses  his  protest,  but  the  same  |acfc  of  bala.nc<^ 
that  distorts  his  own  critical  view.  Any  human 
impulse  that  persists  from  generation  to  gen- 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  9 

eration,  and  under  favorable  conditions  mani 
fests  itself  in  forms  of  beauty,  is  unlikely  to 
be  essentially  vicious.  This  persistence  and 
these  manifestations  should  rather  warn  us  to 
avoid  wholesale  condemnation,  and  to  seek  to 
understand  under  what  conditions,  with  what 
checks  and  complements,  such  an  impulse  finds 
its  most  beautiful  and  satisfying  expression. 

IV 

"  The  best  division  of  human  learning,"  ac 
cording  to  Bj&on,  "is  that  derived  from  the 
three  faculties  of  the  rational  soul,  which  is 
the  seat  of  learning.  History  has  reference  to 
the  Memory,  poesy  to  the  Imagination,  and 
philosophy  to  the  Reasjon."  l  Modern  repre 
sentatives  of  these  three  forms  of  intellectual 
activity  object  to  being  confined  to  the  ex 
clusive  exercise  of  one  of  these  functions.  The 
historian  now  claims  the  right  to  reason  philo 
sophically  and  to  reconstruct  the  past  with 
the  aid  of  imagination  as  well  as  merely  to 
chronicle  memoranda.  The  philosopher  ob 
serves  facts  and  uses  the  imagination  to  con 
struct  hypotheses,  as  well  as  reasons.  And  the 
poet,  as  we  shall  see,  extends  his  province  in 

1  De  Augmentis,  book  11,  chap.  1. 


10  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

ilar  fashion.  Yet  the  threefold  division  supplied 
by  Bacon,  though  perhaps  not  expressed  in  terms 
which  would  satisfy  the  modern  psychologist, 
is  sufficiently  fundamental  to  supply  a  basis  for 
the  discussion  of  those  elements  of  poetry  of 
which  we  are  in  search. 

The  criticism  of  antiquity  began  the  in 
quiry  into  the  nature  of  poetry,  not,  like  Bacon, 
by  assigning  it  to  the  field  of  imagination,  but 
rather  to  the  memory.1  The  characteristic 
which  Aristotle  found  to  be  common  to  the 
kinds  of  poetry  he  examined  — '  epic,  dramatic, 
ancfljric — was  that  of  imitation,  and  imitation 
depends  primarily  on  observation  and  recollec 
tion,  on  what  Bacon  called  memory,  on  what 
may  be  called  more  comprehensively  the  sense 
|of  fact.  But  imitation  as  used  by  Aristotle  and 
his  successors  meant  much  more  than  the  re- 
j  production  of  what  was  observed  and  recorded. 
The  important  element  of  selection  plays  a 
large  part;  and  in  later  criticism  we  hear  much 
of  "  ideal  imitation/'  that  is,  a  reproduction  of 

1  Memory  with  Bacon  implies  not  merely  the  faculty  of 
recollection,  but  all  those  mental  activities  which  deal  with 
the  apprehension  of  facts  :  observation,  for  example,  and  the 
interpretation  of  the  evidence  of  the  senses,  as  well  as  mere 
reminiscence;  since  history  for  him  included  what  he  called 
"  Natural  History,"  what  we  call  the  physical  sciences. 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  11 

facts  selected,  modified,  arranged,  and  height 
ened,  in  order  to  bring  them  into  accordance 
with  a  mental  conception.  In  other  words, 
imagination  has  taken  its  place  beside  the 
sense  of  fact :  "  ideal  imitation  "  is  the  repro 
duction  in  any  artistic  medium  of  observed  or 
recorded  facts  remoulded  by  the  imagination. 

The  greater  part  of  Aristotle's  discussion 
of  the  different  kinds  of  poetry  concerns,  not 
definitions,  but  the  means  by  which  each  kind 
becomes  effective  in  producing  its  appropriate 
sort  of  pleasure.  It  is  largely  critical  general 
ization  from  the  practice  of  the  Greek  poets 
whose  works  he  knew;  and  it  became  the 
basis  for  almost  all  future  discussion  on  the 
formal  side  of  poetry.  It  is  here  that  we  find 
a  place  for  Bacon's  division  of  reason;  for  the 
intellectual  qualities  necessary  for  the  adept 
use  of  the  prescribed  means  to  artistic  effec 
tiveness  are  mainly  qualities  of  judgment;  — 
the  sense  of  probability,  proportion,  fitness, 
harmony,  coherence,  and  the  like.  It  is  on 
such  qualities  as  these  that  what  we  call  form 
in  art  primarily  depends  ;  and  this  group  of 
form-giving  qualities  will  be  intended  when 
we  speak  of  the  element  of  reason  in  poetry. 

It  will  now  have  become  clear  that  there  has 


12  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

long  been  a  recognition  of  the  existence  in 
poetry  of  these  three  fundamental  elements 
of  imagination,  reason,  and  the  sense  of  fact. 
Other  factors,  of  course,  enter  into  the  pro 
duction  of  poetical  effects,  and  some  of  those 
will  be  taken  up  later;  but  there  is  ground 
for  regarding  these  three  as,  in  some  sense, 
essential.  The  absence  of  any  one  of  them  is 
fatal  in  a  way  which  cannot  be  maintained  of 
those  other  subsidiary  factors.  The  presence 
of  all  three,  balanced  and  cooperating,  will  be 
found  to  characterize  those  works  which  a  con 
sensus  of  opinion  places  in  the  first  rank.  The 
excess  of  any  one  indicates  the  presence  of  a 
tendency  which  may  not  be  destructive,  but 
which,  while  conferring  qualities  which  for  a 
time  bring  popularity,  ultimately  stamps  the 
work  in  which  it  appears  as,  in  some  essential 
respect,  inferior. 

V 

The  particular  qualities  in  poetry  which  are 
to  be  traced  to  the  exercise  of  each  of  the 
three  faculties  just  enumerated  may  best  be 
perceived  by  a  consideration  of  classes  of 
poetry  in  which  each  in  turn  may  be  seen  domi 
nant.  As  soon  as  this  is  done,  we  shall  find 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  13 

ourselves  in  the  midst  of  familiar  classifica 
tions,  but  with,  it  is  hoped,  a  clearer  view  of 
their  nature  and  contents. 

The  three  most  persistent  tendencies  ex 
hibited  in  the  history  of  poetry  are  Roman 
ticism,  Classicism,  and  Realism.  These  terms 
have  been  used  with  a  freedom  that  has  often 
resulted  in  confusion,  and  there  is  no  general 
agreement  in  defining  them ;  but  that  the  tend 
encies  exist,  and  are  distinguishable  in  the 
concrete,  seems  to  be  admitted  by  all.  If  a 
correspondence  between  them  and  our  three 
fold  division  of  the  faculties  employed  in 
poetry  can  be  discerned,  we  shall  have  made 
some  progress  towards  definite  conceptions. 
Such  a  correspondence  is  revealed  by  the 
theory  that  each  of  these  three  tendencies  is 
definable  as  the  predominance  of  one  of  the 
faculties  over  the  other  two.  Romanticism  is 
the  tendency  characterized  by  the  predomin 
ance  of  imagination  over  reason  and  the 
sense  of  fact.  Classicism  is  the  tendency  char 
acterized  by  the  predominance  of  reason  ovef 
imagination  and  the  sense  of  fact.  Realism 
is  the  tendency  characterized  by  the  predomin 
ance  of  the  sense  of  fact  over  imagination 
and  reason. 


14  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

At  first  sight,  such  a  statement  falls  under 
suspicion  from  its  very  baldness  and  simplic 
ity.  Literary  and  artistic  phenomena,  one  is  apt 
to  reflect,  are  hardly  to  be  adequately  disposed 
of  by  a  formula  apparently  so  mechanical.  The 
subject-matter  under  discussion  involves  the 
infinite  variety  of  mood  and  emotion,  the  com 
plex  interplay  of  ideas  and  their  hidden  asso 
ciations,  the  perpetually  shifting  panorama  of 
mental  imagery,  which  take  place  in  the  con 
sciousness  when  it  is  confronted  with  a  work 
of  art.  And  in  each  separate  art  there  is,  in 
addition,  the  whole  mass  of  considerations 
affecting  the  technical  devices  by  which  color, 
form,  and  sound  are  brought  into  the  service 
of  expression.  All  this,  it  might  be  urged,  is 
too  complex,  too  full  of  minute  shadings,  to 
be  cleared  up  by  a  handful  of  drastic  dis 
tinctions. 

To  this  it  may  be  replied  that  the  simplic 
ity  of  the  definitions  proposed  is  more  appar 
ent  than  real.  The  three  important  terms 
employed  contain  each  a  central  idea,  but  they 
have  a  vast  number  of  manifestations,  and 
are,  moreover,  practically  never  found  in  iso 
lation.  In  later  chapters,  the  attempt  will  be 
made  to  expound  the  more  important  of  these 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  15 

manifestations,  and  to  show  that  they  really 
belong  to  the  central  ideas.  But,  in  the  mean 
time,  the  argument  may  be  safely  followed 
without  the  fear  that  the  criticism  of  poetry  is 
to  be  rendered  either  easy  or  mechanical. 

VI 

In  looking  to  literary  history  for  some  pre 
liminary  corroboration  of  our  definitions,  it 
will  be  well  to  recall  a  principle  to  which  al 
lusion  has  already  been  made.  Just  as  no  poem 
is  created  exclusively  by  the  imagination,  the 
reason,  or  the  sense  of  fact,  so  no  age  is  ex 
clusively  Romantic,  Classical,  or  Realistic.  If 
we  yield  to  current  fashion  and  speak,  say,  of 
a  Romantic  period,  let  it  be  understood  that 
this  implies  only  that  in  that  period  there  was 
a  notable  increase  in  the  amount  of  the  im 
aginative  element  in  the  poetical  product  of 
the  time,  not  that  reason  and  the  sense  of  fact 
had  completely  vanished.  Further,  the  greater 
the  age  from  the  artistic  point  of  view,  the 
less  likely  is  it  to  be  marked  by  a  notable  de 
ficiency  in  any  of  the  three  faculties.  In  so 
far  as  it  succeeded  in  giving  in  artistic  form 
a  deep,  broad,  permanently  and  universally  sat 
isfying  representation  of  human  life,  it  con- 


16  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

tained  in  itself,  in  well-balanced  proportion, 
the  three  great  elements  of  artistic  effective 
ness. 

It  will  probably  be  granted  that  the  period 
of  the  Renascence  is  the  most  notable  age  in 
the  history  of  art  and  letters,  if  one  regards 
the  breadth  of  its  activity  as  well  as  the  height 
of  its  loftiest  achievements.  The  age  of  Peri 
cles  in  Greece,  however  we  may  compare 
Sophocles  and  Shakespeare,  Phidias  and 
Michelangelo,  was  much  more  restricted  both 
in  point  of  time  and  of  extent.  If  our  theory 
is  correct,  then,  we  ought  to  find  in  the  Re 
nascence  testimony  to  the  activity,  in  fair 
equilibrium,  of  all  the  faculties  under  discus 
sion. 

The  evidence  of  the  workings  of  the  imagr 
ination  in  this  period  is  not  far  to  seek.  His 
torian  after  historian  has  laid  stress  on  the 
breaking  down  at  that  time  of  the  walls  which 
had  limited  the  intellectual  vision,  and  on  the 
growth  of  an  insatiable  curiosity,  peering  out 
on  all  sides  into  the  unknown.  The  records 
of  the  century  of  exploration  that  followed 
the  discovery  of  the  New  World  by  Columbus 
are  full  of  the  spirit  of  wide-eyed  wonder  in 
which  the  prows  of  England  and  Spain  were 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  17 

pushed  into  strange  seas;  and  the  tales  of 
marvellous  adventure  brought  back  by  these 
splendid  pirates  stimulated  to  the  highest  de 
gree  the  imaginations  of  those  who  stayed  at 
home.  In  a  more  intellectual  sphere,  the  re 
birth  of  the  study  of  classical  antiquity  oper 
ated  with  hardly  less  power  on  the  imagina 
tions  of  the  learned.  The  spirit  of  humanism 
lay  in  the  cultivation  of  imaginative  sympathy 
with  men  of  all  races  and  times,  in  the  escape 
through  this  power  from  the  narrow  limits  of 
actual  present  conditions.  The  rise  of  the  new 
astronomy  opened  to  the  receptive  mind  such 
possibilities  of  cosmic  speculation  that  even 
now  the  imagination  reels  under  the  effort  to 
grasp  them.  These  and  a  hundred  other  feat 
ures  of  that  time  are  the  commonplaces  of  the 
histories,  and  are  touched  on  here  merely  to 
recall  the  obvious  fact  of  the  unparalleled 
multiplicity  of  imaginative  stimuli  in  the  Eu 
rope  of  the  Renascence. 

The  activity  of  the  rational  element  in  the 
life  of  that  time  is  less  prominent,  yet  by  no 
means  absent.  The  theological  thinking  of 
the  Protestant  Reformation  may  seem  far  from 
pure  rationalism  to-day,  yet,  when  one  con* 
siders  the  Lutheran  criticism  of  the  abuse  of 


18  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

indulgences,  the  logical  structure  of  the  Cal- 
vinistic  system,  the  wide  emphasis  laid  by 
Protestantism  at  the  outset  on  the  right  of 
individual  judgment,  one  sees  that  this  relig 
ious  revolution  meant,  with  whatever  else,  a 
profound  stirring  of  the  reasoning  powers.  ' 
Nor  was  this  confined  to  the  Reformed  party. 
The  movement  produced  a  period  of  theo 
logical  controversy,  and  the  impulse  to  find  a 
reasoned  standing  ground  affected  the  defence 
as  well  as  the  attack.  Some  of  the  factors  al 
ready  cited  for  their  imaginative  significance 
were  of  importance  for  the  reason  also.  The 
Copernican  hypothesis  was  based  by  its  au 
thor  quite  as  much  on  a  priori  reasoning  as 
on  observation,  and  the  whole  struggle  to 
emerge  from  the  scholastic  tradition  meant  a 
vigorous  assertion  of  the  rational  judgment. 
Along  with  the  broadening  of  imaginative 
sympathy  from  the  study  of  the  classics,  came 
an  intense,  if  partial,  •  realization  of  their 
beauty  of  form  and  style,  and  a  vigorous  at 
tempt  both  to  emulate  these  and  to  find  from 
the  study  of  Aristotle  the  laws  of  literary 
composition.  It  is  in  the  commentators  of  this 
period  that  one  finds  the  source  of  that  stream 
of  criticism  which  carried  down  to  the  eight- 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  19 

eenth  century,  in  however  perverted  a  form, 
the  rationalized  aesthetic  by  which  the  neo 
classical  writers  sought  both  to  create  and  to 
criticize.  Reason,  then,  was  abundantly  active 
also. 

Nor  was  the  sense  of  fact  lacking  to  that 
age.  In  it  the  modern  sciences  of  observation 
and  experiment  took  their  rise.  With  all  their 
far-reaching  imaginings  and  rational  specula 
tion,  the  men  of  the  Renascence  had  a  most 
vivid  and  intense  sense  of  the  actual.  In  con 
trast  with  the  other-worldliness  of  the  Mid 
dle  Age,  it  was  a  very  worldly  time,  when 
men  were  by  no  means  inclined  to  ignore  the 
good  things  of  this  life.  Science  and  explora 
tion  had  their  material  as  well  as  their  imag 
inative  and  rational  sides  ;  and  the  abundance 
•  of  social  satire  in  the  literature  of  the  time 
bears  witness  of  the  persistence  of  the  tendency 
to  look  facts  in  the  face,  and  even  to  take  a 
grim  satisfaction  in  reversing  the  romantic 
surface  and  displaying  the  seamy  side. 

VII 

It  is  to  be  admitted  that  in  any  age  evi 
dences  of  all  these  tendencies  could  be  exposed : 
the  distinction  of  the  Renascence  is  in  the 


20  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

vigor  and  intensity  of  the  activity  of  all  of 
them.  None  is  negligible;  and  in  the  high 
degree  of  the  development  of  all  is  to  be 
found  one  explanation  of  the  full-blooded  com 
pleteness  of  the  art  and  literature  of  the  time. 

Yet  so  long  a  historical  digression  would 
hardly  be  justifiable  here,  were  it  not  for  its 
importance  as  a  background  for  the  great  lit 
erary  figures  of  the  period.  For  England,  if 
not  for  the  world,  the  Renascence  culminates 
in  Shakespeare ;  and,  while  it  is  useless  to  deny 
or  explain  away  the  miracle  of  genius,  it  can  be 
shown  that  the  supreme  effectiveness  of  Shake 
speare  in  the  picturing  of  human  life  finds 
some  explanation  in  the  balance  of  the  ele-  ' 
ments  under  discussion,  both  in  his  age  and  ' 
in  his  own  temperament. 

The  most  remarkable  characteristic  of  the 
earliest  work  of  Shakespeare  is  its  Realism. 
Reasoned  adaptation  of  means  to  ends  in  the 
mastery  of  form  it  undoubtedly  has,  but  this 
is  along  somewhat  conventional  lines,  and  he 
is,  in  the  main,  trying  his  hand  at  other  men's 
devices.  Imagination  is  present  in  the  tenta 
tive  creation  of  somewhat  vague  types  of 
character,  in  the  vivid  conjuring  up  of  men 
tal  images.  But  these  are  heavily  impressed 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  21 

by  literal  recollection.  Venus  and  Adonis, 
the  "  first  heir  of  his  invention,"  is,  indeed, 
an  imaginative  working  over  of  a  familiar 
myth,  with  much  attention  to  technical  form ; 
but  its  most  remarkable  quality,  and  that 
which  sets  it  apart  from  the  mass  of  similar 
Elizabethan  re-tellings  of  classical  stories,  is 
its  vivid  sense  of  fact.  Take,  for  instance,  the 
famous  description  by  Venus  of  the  hunted 
hare,  or  the  familiar  catalogue  of  the  points 
of  the  horse  of  Adonis : 

Round-hoof'd,  short-jointed,  fetlocks  shag  and  long, 
Broad  breast,  full  eye,  small  head,  and  nostril  wide, 
High  crest,  short  ears,  straight  legs  and  passing  strong, 
Thin  mane,  thick  tail,  broad  buttock,  tender  hide  : 

Look,  what  a  horse  should  have  he  did  not  lack, 

Save  a  proud  rider  on  so  proud  a  back. 

So  far  as  imagination  is  present  in  such 
passages  it  is  that  kind  of  imagination  which 
comes  closest  to  the  sense  of  fact,  the  power 
of  calling  up  remembered  scenes  vividly  before 
the  mental  eye.  The  rational  element  appears 
chiefly  in  the  careful  manipulation  of  details, 
and  the  insertion  of  fragments  of  moralizing, 
like  "Danger  deviseth  shifts;  wit  waits  on 
fear,"  suggested  by  the  resourcefulness  of  the 
hare.  But  both  of  these  elements  are  clearly 
subordinate  to  the  sense  of  fact.  The  passage, 


22  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

as,  indeed,  the  whole  poem,  is  distinguished 
by  an  extraordinary  degree  of  precision  in  the 
recording  of  observed  and  remembered  detail. 
Here,  surely,  is  what  is  called  Realism. 

We  turn,  now,  to  a  passage  written  in  the 
midst  of  his  career,  from  the  speech  of  Ulysses 
on  the  necessity  of  "degree,"  or  rank  and 
order,  in  Troilus  and  Cressida  : 

O,  when  degree  is  shak'd, 
Which  is  the  ladder  to  all  high  designs, 
Then  enterprise  is  sick  !  How  could  communities, 
Degrees  in  schools,  and  brotherhoods  in  cities, 
Peaceful  commerce  from  dividable  shores, 
The  primogenitive  and  due  of  birth, 
Prerogative  of  age,  crowns,  sceptres,  laurels, 
But  by  degree,  stand  in  authentic  place  ? 
Take  but  degree  away,  untune  that  string, 
And,  hark,  what  discord  follows  !  Each  thing  meets 
In  mere  oppugnancy.  The  bounded  waters 
Should  lift  their  bosoms  higher  than  the  shores 
And  make  a  sop  of  all  this  solid  globe. 
Strength  should  be  lord  of  imbecility, 
And  the  rude  son  should  strike  his  father  dead. 
Force  should  be  right ;  or  rather,  right  and  wrong, 
Between  whose  endless  jar  Justice  resides, 
Should  lose  their  names,  and  so  should  Justice  too. 

(i,  iii,  101-118.) 

In  the  selection  of  details  and  in  the  phras 
ing  of  these  lines  there  is  evidence  enough  of 
both  fact  and  fancy,  but  their  predominant 
quality  is  surely  rational.  The  play  in  which 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  23 

they  occur,  and  other  plays  written  about  the 
same  time,  are  full  of  such  reasoned,  even  ar 
gumentative,  speeches,  and  bear  ample  wit 
ness  to  the  strength  of  Shakespeare's  capacity 
for  that  highly  finished  and  carefully  consid 
ered  expression  of  the  results  of  contemplation 
and  generalization  on  human  nature  and  the 
ways  of  the  world,  which  has  distinguished  the 
so-called  Classical  periods  of  modern  literature. 
Finally,  let  us  regard  for  a  moment  the 
speech  from  The  Tempest,  so  often  quoted 
as  a  kind  of  epilogue  to  the  dramas  as  a 
whole : 

Our  revels  now  are  ended.  These  our  actors, 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air  ; 
And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  this  vision, 
The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind.  We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. 

(iv,  i,  148-158.) 

In  such  a  passage  the  imagination  of  the 
poet  rises  above  details  of  observation  and 
links  of  argument,  and,  like  an  eagle  soaring 
sunwards  in  vast  spirals  above  the  sights  and 


24  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

sounds  of  the  actual  world,  draws  us  up  and 
up,  till  the  faculties  lose  themselves  in  an  at 
tempt  to  penetrate  the  infinite.  Such  are  the 
supreme  achievements  of  the  imagination. 

My  purpose  in  assembling  these  quotations 
from  Shakespeare  is  not  primarily  to  suggest 
a  characterization  of  the  different  periods  of 
his  production,  but  to  emphasize  the  existence 
in  it,  in  a  high  degree  of  frequency  and  in 
tensity,  of  all  the  three  elements  under  dis 
cussion.  Slight  reflection  will  show  the  possi 
bility  of  supporting  each  of  these  illustrations 
with  scores  like  it,  so  that  a  special  pleader 
for  any  of  the  schools  could  produce  evidence 
which  would  seem  to  prove  Shakespeare  to  be 
Realist,  Classicist,  or  Romanticist.  But  disin 
terested  consideration  will  convince  us  that  all 
of  these  tendencies  are  constantly  appearing 
in  his  work,  and  that  no  one  of  the  labels  can 
long  seem  adequate.  In  the  greatest  figure  of 
all,  then,  we  find  a  confirmation  of  our  theory, 
that  sjirjHna^ajhiejv 


VIII 

So  far  we  have  discussed  these  three  funda 
mental  elements  of  poetry  from  the  point  of 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  25 

view  of  its  production,  as  characteristics  of 
the  age,  or  as  features  of  the  equipment  of 
the  writer,  producing  it.  But  the  analysis  is 
equally  valid  if  regarded  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  reader.  It  is  to  the  reader's  imag 
ination,  reason,  observation  or  recollection  of 
fact,  that  poetry  makes  an  appeal;  and  the 
same  classifications  may  be  arrived  at  by 
an  examination  of  our  personal  reactions  to 
poetry,  as  by  a  study  of  the  poet's  mind.  The 
same  particular  verdicts  may  not  always  be 
reached,  for  this  other  process  involves  the 
disturbing  element  of  personal  difference,  and 
no  two  readers  are  likely  to  be  stimulated  to 
the  same  degree  by  any  one  quality ;  but  the 
cultivation  of  the  critical  habit  enables  one 
to  detect  and  make  allowance  for  the  excess 
or  defect  due  to  individual  bias.  It  follows, 
too,  that  the  ideal  critic,  like  the  perfect  art 
ist,  will  be  marked  not  by  the  possession  of  a 
single  susceptibility  of  extreme  acuteness,  but 
by  a  proportional  development  on  all  sides. 

Not  that  anything  less  complete  than  this 
is  useless.  Just  as  we  are  not  always  in  a 
mood  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  great  master 
piece,  but  at  one  time  desire  the  stimulus  of 
highly  imaginative  work  to  lift  us  clear  of  thp 


26  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

actual,  at  another  the  tonic  of  a  reasoned  view 
of  large  aspects  of  life,  at  another  a  bracing 
contact  with  the  naked  fact ;  so  criticism  that 
is  chiefly  intent  on  one  or  other  of  these  fac 
tors  has  its  value  also.  Herein  lies  the  defence 
of  the  so-called  "  impressionistic  "  critic,  whose 
work  is  not  primarily  an  estimate  or  an  ana 
lysis  at  all,  but  a  description  of  the  experi 
ences  of  certain  highly  developed  sensibilities 
in  contact  with  a  work  of  art.  The  confes 
sions  of  such  a  writer  serve  to  bring  into 
view  qualities  in  a  poem  which,  while  they 
may  not  be  displayed  in  their  true  relations, 
are  yet  there,  and  so  develop  our  sensitiveness 
to  artistic  beauty  now  in  this  direction,  now 
in  that.  The  chief  value  of  good  criticism  is, 
after  all,  not  in  supplying  us  with  final  ver 
dicts  on  a  book  or  an  author,  but  in  giving 
us  a  certain  aesthetic  gymnastic,  which  will 
aid  in  equipping  us  with  the  strength  and 
suppleness  of  mind  and  feeling  necessary  for 
an  effective  assault  on  the  kingdom  of  art  on 
our  own  responsibility. 

The  same  principles  apply  in  the  considera 
tion  of  the  great  ultimate,  yet  hardly  articu 
late,  critic,  the  public  and  posterity.  The  dis 
tinction  must  be  kept  clear  between  the  public 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  21 

from  which  a  poet  springs  and  the  public 
which  appreciates  him.  Much  confusion  in 
the  writing  of  literary  history  has  resulted 
from  the  tacit  but  fallacious  assumption  that 
an  age  is  necessarily  to  be  characterized  by 
the  art  produced  in  it ;  yet  it  is  a  common 
place  that  the  poet  has  often  been  in  his  own 
time  but  a  voice  crying  in  the  wilderness. 
William  Blake,  for  example,  was  contempo 
rary  with  Dr.  Johnson,  and  has  come  to  his 
own  only  after  a  century.  The  high  poetical 
production  of  Wordsworth  is  separated  by  a 
clear  space  of  years  from  the  period  of  his 
popularity,  though  he  happened  to  survive  to 
enjoy  it.  On  the  other  hand,  Scott  and  Byron 
found  their  public  at  once.  In  the  face  of 
such  familiar  facts  it  would  seem  an  obvious 
duty  to  be  clear  in  our  nomenclature  as  to 
whether  such  a  term  as  "  The  Romantic 
Period  "is  to  refer  to  the  age  whose  artists 
exhibited  the  predominance  of  romantic  tend 
encies,  or  that  in  which  the  public  at  large 
showed  appreciation  of  them.  The  study  of 
vogue  as  a  factor  in  literary  history  has  little 
more  than  begun,  and  is  beset  by  peculiar 
difficulties ;  but,  when  the  facts  are  once  ob 
tained,  we  shall  find  still  another  field  for  the 


28  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

application  of  the  principles  we  have  laid 
down,  and  shall  be  able  to  describe  and  ap 
praise  the  public  of  each  successive  period  by 
their  approximation  to  the  same  balance  of 
qualities  which  determines  the  place  of  the 
individual  critic  and  poet. 

IX 

In  the  foregoing  enumeration  of  the  funda 
mental  elements  of  poetry  there  has  been  one 
notable,  and,  it  may  have  seemed  to  some, 
fatal  omission.  Nothing  has  been  so  far  said 
as  to  emotion.  Yet  in  modern  discussions  of 
our  subject  hardly  any  factor  has  been  more 
strongly  insisted  on.  Wordsworth,  among 
many  illuminating  and  profound  utterances 
on  this  theme,  has  called  poetry  "  the  spon 
taneous  overflow  of  powerful  feelings  " ;  and 
again,  speaking  of  poetry  as  having  truth  for 
its  object,  he  says  that  such  truth  must  be 
sf  carried  alive  into  the  heart  by  passion." 
Milton,  too,  in  his  famous  dictum,  emphasizes 
the  passionate  nature  of  poetry.  And  every 
where  in  the  field  of  recent  criticism  one  may 
find  utterances  to  the  same  effect. 

But  the  present  thesis  does  not  require  us 
to  ignore  or  minimize  the  importance  of  this 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  29 

factor.  It  is  one  of  the  distinguishing  marks 
of  the  method  of  poetry  as  opposed  to  that  of 
philosophy  and  science,  that  it  aims  to  con 
vince,  not  the  intellect,  but  the  feelings.  Yet 
this  is  not  to  place  emotion  on  the  same  plane 
as  the  three  elements  so  far  discussed.  The 
prominence  of  emotion  in  poetry  does  indeed 
vary  from  poet  to  poet,  and  from  work  to 
work;  yet  we  do  not  find  it  selected  as  the 
specific  characteristic  of  any  type.  It  does  not 
belong,  as  a  special  possession,  to  one  class  or 
school,  but  is  a  general  source  of  poetic  vital 
ity  in  all.  The  term  "  emotion,"  however,  as 
used  by  Wordsworth  and  others  for  the  factor 
under  discussion,  is  not  an  entirely  happy  one. 
It  points  in  the  right  general  direction,  but 
hardly  hits  the  mark.  The  insistence  on  it  has 
led  to  the  undervaluation  of  certain  forms  of 
verse,  and  at  times  has  led  to  their  complete 
exclusion  by  the  critics  from  the  field  of 
poetry.  Yet  some  of  these  forms  the  great 
public  persists  in  recognizing  and  welcoming, 
so  that  it  is  worth  while  to  see  whether  the 
term  is  not  unintentionally  narrow. 

The  quality  aimed  at  by  such  writers  as 
Milton  and  Wordsworth  may,  I  believe,  more 
fitly  be  termed  intensity.  The  conception 


30  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

which  this  word  suggests  is  considerably 
broader  than  that  indicated  by  emotion,  and 
more  conveniently  lends  itself  to  the  kind  of 
effectiveness  which  belongs  to  the  reason  and 
the  sense  of  fact  in  the  service  of  poetry.  Thlr 
exhilaration  that  one  feels  from  the  absolutely 
fit  word,  the  zest  in  the  clean-cut  outline,  the 
thrill  of  recognition  of  the  characteristic  in  a 
piece  of  penetrating  realism,  the  sense  of  re 
pose  from  perfect  balance  and  harmony  in 
structure  —  such  experiences  as  these  are  not 
at  once  called  up  by  the  word  emotion,  and  v 
are  included  in  what  I  wish  to  call  intensity.  / 
It  is  the  result  of  the  artist's  caring  immensely 
about  whatever  aspect  of  his  work  especially 
appeals  to  him.  Later,  after  the  further  ex 
amination  of  the  three  elements  first  men 
tioned,  the  attempt  will  be  made  to  indicate 
in  more  detail  the  nature  of  intensity  and  of 
its  manifestations  in  poetry,  and  to  show  that 
while  the  proportions  of  imagination,  reason, 
and  the  sense  of  fact  determine  the  kind  of  a 
poem,  intensity  determines  thejdegree  of  its 
poetic  vitality. 

In  addition  to  these  four  fundamental  and 
essential  elements,  the  quality  of  any  single 
poem  is  affected  by  an  indefinite  number  of 


THE  BALANCE  OF  QUALITIES  31 

minor  factors.  It  is  with  these  that  a  large 
part  of  modern  appreciative  criticism  concerns 
itself,  and  it  is  they  which,  in  great  measure, 
give  a  poem  its  individuality,  as  the  major 
factors  determine  its  family  and  its  poetic  rank. 
Among  these,  only  sentiment  and  humor  are 
here  dealt  with.  The  former  raises  some  of 
the  most  difficult  yet  interesting  questions  in 
literary  analysis.  The  relation  of  sentiment 
to  imagination  on  one  side  and  passion  on  the 
other,  the  distinction  between  sentiment  and 
sentimentalism,  the  association  in  literary  his 
tory  of  sentimentalism  with  romanticism,  the 
issue  between  those  who  find  in  this  tendency 
a  charm  and  those  who  brand  it  as  morbid,  — 
these  are  some  of  the  matters  which  this  topic 
brings  into  the  discussion. 

About  the  relation  of  humor  to  poetry  sin 
gularly  little  seems  to  have  been  written  ;  and, 
so  far  as  I  am  aware,  no  serious  attempt  has 
been  made  to  define  the  effect  of  the  one 
upon  the  other.  "Humorous  Poetry"  is  a 
heading  not  unfamiliar  in  the  anthologies, 
and  great  poets  have  also  been  great  humor 
ists;  but  a  question  remains  to  be  answered 
as  to  how  intimate  the  relation  may  be.  This 
is  not  a  matter  concerning  merely  the  single 


32  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

passage :  it  affects  the  whole  question  of  the 
poetic  standing  of  such  literary  forms  as  the 
Satire.  This  clearly  is  a  field  in  which  investi* 
gation  may  be  expected  to  result  in  the  clarify 
ing  of  our  ideas  as  to  the  essential  content  of 
poetry. 

The  topics  here  suggested  for  detailed  con 
sideration  are,  of  course,  only  a  selection,  but 
the  selection  is  not  purely  arbitrary.  An  ex 
amination  of  the  legitimate  content  of  the 
critical  terms  employed  in  outlining  the  thesis 
of  the  present  volume  will  serve  at  once  to 
test  the  validity  of  that  thesis,  and  to  confront 
us  with  some  of  the  most  vital  problems  in 
literary  criticism. 


CHAPTER  II 

IMAGINATION    IN    POETRY 


A  THOROUGH-GOING  analysis  of  the  faculty 
of  imagination  from  the  point  of  view  of  psy 
chology  would  carry  us  beyond  our  range  of 
inquiry.  Our  method  must  be  mainly  that  of 
concrete  illustration. 

Imagination  is  sometimes  regarded  as  being 
merely  the  faculty  of  imaging,  of  holding  be 
fore  the  mind  pictures  of  things  which  are  not 
actually  present  to  the  senses.  Such  a  view 
fails  to  distinguish  it  clearly  from  memory, 
and  would  not  entitle  it  to  the  place  assigned 
it  in  our  scheme.  Imagination  stretches  beyond 
memory  in  both  directions :  first,  it  may  be 
present  in  the  original  perception  of  the  ob 
jects  which  memory  recalls;  and,  secondly,  it  is 
not  content  with  passive  recollection,  but  oper 
ates  upon  the  objects  recollected.  Let  us  see 
first  how  it  is  present  in  perception.  One  knows 
how  a  botanist,  intent  on  the  observation  of 
objective  fact,  would  note  and  describe  a  daisy ; 
not,  of  course,  by  an  indiscriminate  enumera- 


34  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

tion  of  details,  since  he  is  seeking  a  basis  for 
rational  classification;  but  without  addition, 
the  personal  element  appearing  only  negatively, 
in  rejection  of  the  non-significant.  Contrast 
with  such  a  method  the  process  of  the  imagin 
ative  observer,  as  exemplified  in  one  of  Words 
worth's  poems  on  the  same  flower.  These  three 
stanzas  are  sufficiently  typical : 

Oft  on  the  dappled  turf  at  ease 

I  sit,  and  play  with  similes, 

Loose  types  of  things  through  all  degrees, 

Thoughts  of  thy  raising  : 
And  many  a  fond  and  idle  name 
1  give  to  thee,  for  praise  or  blame, 
As  is  the  humour  of  the  game, 

While  I  am  gazing. 

A  nun  demure  of  lowly  port ; 

Or  sprightly  maiden,  of  Love's  court, 

In  thy  simplicity  the  sport 

Of  all  temptations ; 
A  queen  in  crown  of  rubies  drest 
A  starveling  in  a  scanty  vest ; 
Are  all,  as  seems  to  suit  thee  best, 

Thy  appellations. 

A  little  Cyclops  with  one  eye 
Staring  to  threaten  and  defy, 
That  thought  comes  next  —  and  instantly 

The  freak  is  over, 

The  shape  will  vanish  —  and  behold 
A  silver  shield  with  boss  of  gold, 
That  spreads  itself,  some  faery  bold 

In  fight  to  cover ! 


IMAGINATION  IN   POETRY  35 

The  possession  of  an  active  imagination 
prevents  the  poet  from  being  merely  passively 
receptive  or  merely  selective  in  his  observation ; 
the  flower  affords  him  a  score  of  stimulating 
suggestions,  and  impels  his  thought  in  as  many 
directions.  Even  while  his  physical  eye  was 
resting  on  the  daisy  itself,  his  mental  eye  was 
beholding  it  transformed  now  into  a  shield, 
now  a  beggar,  now  a  maiden.  Far  from  making 
the  scientist's  endeavor  to  see  it  only  in  its  na 
ture  as  a  daisy,  the  poet  eagerly  allows  himself 
to  be  led  by  his  imagination  to  see  it  as  all 
kinds  of  other  things.  Yet  these  other  things 
are  not  arbitrarily  chosen,  but  occur  to  his  mind 
because  they  bring  into  relief,  one  after  another, 
as  each  image  gives  place  to  its  successor,  as 
pects  of  the  daisy's  character,  so  to  speak, 
which  would  never  become  visible  to  the  merely 

«r 

scientific  observer. 

In  thus  seeking  to  illustrate  how  imagination 
goes  beyond  memory  on  the  side  of  observa 
tion,  we  have  already  illustrated  how  it  sur 
passes  it  also  on  the  side  of  recollection. 
While  some  of  the  comparisons  suggested  by 
the  daisy  are  with  recollected  objects,  like  the 
"  star  with  glittering  crest,  self-poised  in  air," 
most  are  with  things  which  the  poet  had  never 


36  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

seen  with  the  physical  eye.  A  cyclops,  a  nun, 
a  lady  of  the  Courts  of  Love,  even  a  queen 
crowned  with  rubies,  —  these  are  scarcely  to 
be  regarded  as  his  familiar  recollections.  The 
observed  object,  besides  stirring  associations 
that  call  up  images  of  things  previously  seen, 
calls  up  also  images  due  to  previous  operations 
of  the  imagination ;  and  when  these  are  ex 
amined,  we  find  that  out  of  the  materials  sup 
plied  by  perception  and  memory,  the  imagin 
ation  had  already  stored  the  poet's  mind  with 
images  of  new  creations,  many  of  them,  like 
the  Cyclops,  of  things  which  never  had  any 
but  an  imaginary  existence. 

This  "playing  with  similes"  illustrates 
fairly  clearly  the  phase  of  imagination  which 
Wordsworth  himself  distinguished  as  "  Fancy." 
An  allied  manifestation  may  be  exemplified 
by  the  famous  passage  from  Keats's  Eve  of 
St.  Agnes: 

And  still  she  slept  an  azure-lidded  sleep, 
In  blanched  linen,  smooth,  and  lavender'd, 
While  he  from  forth  the  closet  brought  a  heap 
Of  candied  apple,  quince,  and  plum,  and  gourd ; 
With  jellies  soother  than  the  creamy  curd, 
And  lucent  syrops,  tinct  with  cinnamon; 
Manna  and  dates,  in  argosy  transferred 
From  Fez  ;  and  spiced  dainties,  every  one 
From  silken  Samarcand  to  cedar'd  Lebanon. 


IMAGINATION  IN  POETRY  37 

From  one  point  of  view  this  enumeration 
seems  as  material  and  matter-of-fact  as  the 
preserve  counter  of  a  grocery  warehouse ;  but 
from  another,  one  perceives  that  almost  every 
epithet  sends  out  the  imagination  on  a  voyage 
from  which  it  returns  with  a  freight  of  asso 
ciations  that  enrich  the  conception  far  beyond 
what  would  be  achieved  by  all  the  senses  stim 
ulated  by  the  actual  presence  of  the  objects. 
And  Fez,  Samarcand,  and  Lebanon,  names 
redolent  of  the  spices  of  the  gorgeous  East, 
are  brought  in  at  the  close,  producing  a  cli 
max  of  experience  in  which  imaginative  and 
sensuous  elements  are  ecstatically  blended. 

II 

The  operation  of  the  imagination,  however, 
does  not  stop  with  the  presentation  to  the 
mind  of  such  sensations,  images,  and  ideas,  re 
collected  or  invented,  as  are  exemplified  in  the 
two  poems  cited.  What  Wordsworth  himself 
called  the  Constructive  or  Creative  Imagin 
ation,  as  distinct  from  the  Recollective  Im 
agination  and  the  Fancy,  is  something  both 
more  profound  and  more  comprehensive.  On 
its  perceptive  side,  it  depends  on  what  is  usu 
ally  called  insight,  the  power  of  penetrating 


38  ESSENTIALS   OF  POETRY 

the  ordinary  objects  of  experience,  and  of 
perceiving  meanings  and  relations  that  lie  be 
neath  the  surface.  On  its  creative  side,  it  re 
veals  these  hidden  elements,  not  isolated  and 
at  random,  but  as  parts  of  a  new  synthesis. 
For  such  a  synthesis,  the  word  "creation"  is 
more  fit  than  "  construction,"  because  in  its 
origin  it  is  spontaneous  and  intuitive  rather 
than  the  result  of  a  laborious  process  of  piec 
ing  things  together.  That  large  envisagement 
of  things  in  their  infinite  variety  of  relation, 
which  is  the  work  of  true  imaginative  vision, 
is  due  to  a  mysterious  working  together  of 
what  has  been  gathered  by  the  insight  and 
observation  of  the  artist,  with  the  ultimate 
quality  of  his  personality ;  and  the  result  is 
"  flashed  upon  his  inward  eye,"  not  arrived 
at  by  reason  or  ingenuity. 
X"In  the  forming  of  large  scientific  general 
izations  and  of  great  philosophic  conceptions, 
the  operation  of  a  similar  imaginative  func 
tion  has  long  been  recognized;  and  it  is  nec 
essary  to  distinguish  these  from  the  charac 
teristic  produces  of  the  artistic  imagination. 
This  distinction  is  to  be  found  rather  in  the 
mode  of  expression  than  in  the  way  in  which 
the  results  are  reached.  The  scientist  and  the 


IMAGINATION  IN  POETRY  39 

philosopher  may  arrive  at  the  illuminating 
hypothesis  at  a  bound,  outstripping  for  the 
moment  the  processes  of  accumulation  and 
deduction,  yet,  in  setting  forth  their  general 
izations,  they  proceed  to  support  them  by  the 
collection  of  facts  or  by  a  series  of  argu 
ments.  The  artist,  on  the  other  hand,  is  not 
concerned  with  the  gathering  of  evidence, 
and  should  never  argue.  While  the  goal  of 
the  others  is  a  formal  law  or  an  ultimate  ab 
straction,  the  artist  abhors  the  abstract,  and 
implies  his  generalization  in  a  concrete  ex 
ample.  His  appeal  is  sensuous,  not  intellect 
ual  ;  his  function  is  not  to  prove,  but  to  make 
you  see,  or  Jiear,  or  feel.  Starting  from  the 
jumble  of  heterogeneous  detail  offered  to  his 
senses  by  the  actual  world,  the  poet  passes, 
without  tarrying  in  the  region  of  the  abstract, 
to  the  presentation  to  the  reader  of  a  group 
of  images,  selected,  heightened,  and  arranged 
so  as  to  suggest  a  new  vision  of  life.  He  sees 
the  world,  internal  and  external,  in  pictures; 
and  he  in  turn  renders  it  in  pictures. 

From  still  another  point  of  view  is  the  word 
"  creation  "  to  be  preferred  to  "  construction  " 
in  describing  this  larger  result  of  imaginative 
activity.  The  artistic  product,  whether  thought 


40  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

of  as  in  the  mind  of  its  creator  or  of  its  ap- 
preciator,is  more  an  organism  than  a  building. 
Its  vital  formative  force  comes  from  within, 
from  the  personality  of  the  artist;  it  results 
from  impulse  rather  than  from  calculation;  and 
it  is  governed  by  a  law  of  self -consistency 
and  coherence  whose  sanctions  are  internal. 
Thus  it  is  entirely  in  the  competence  of  the 
individual  artist  to  determine  how  far  his  ideal 
world  is  to  conform  to  the  natural  world  as 
known  to  science  or  history;  the  only  restric 
tion  binding  him  being  that  of  playing  his 
game  according  to  its  own  rules.  If  he  elects  to 
work  out  his  problem  on  the  assumption  that 
this  or  that  element  usually  regarded  as  super 
natural  or  impossible  is  for  him  natural  and 
possible,  he  is  at  liberty  to  do  so,  as  long  as 
the  work  is  true  to  the  laws  of  its  own  be 
ing.  If  he  elects  to  deal  with  a  world  entirely 
under  the  domination  of  natural  law,  again  he 
may  do  so,  but  waives  his  right  to  introduce 
the  supernatural.  The  city  of  Paris  in  Zola's 
novel  of  that  name,  and  the  City  of  Brass  in 
the  Arabian  Nights,  are  equally  justifiable 
subjects  for  a  work  of  imagination;  only  magic 
carpets  must  not  be  laid  in  the  cafes  of  the 
Boulevards. 


IMAGINATION  IN  POETRY  41 

Imagination  in  the  modern  sense  of  the  term 
is  not  supposed  to  have  entered  critical  dis 
cussion  until  about  the  second  century  of  our 
era;  yet  it  is  not  difficult  to  find  recognition 
of  some  of  the  processes  we  have  been  dis 
cussing,  in  the  works  of  Aristotle  himself. 
"  Poetry,"  he  says  in  an  oft-quoted  passage  in  / 
the  Poetics,  "is  a  more  philosophical  and  a 
higher  thing  than  history :  for  poetry  tends  to 
express  the  universal,  history  the  particular. 
By  the  universal  I  mean  how  a  person  of  a 
certain  type  will  on  occasion  speak  or  act,  ac 
cording  to  thejaw  of  probability  or  necessity." 
What  is  emphasized  here  is  the  comprehensive 
ness  of  the  imaginative  synthesis;  and  when 
the  complementary  point  is  added,  that  the 
universal  is  to  be  expressed  through  the  individ-  j 
ual,  we  have  a  statement  of  the  main  function 
of  imagination  in  art.  An  equally  famous  dic 
tum  of  Aristotle's,  that  the  poet  "should  pre 
fer  plausible  impossibilities  to  improbable  pos 
sibilities,"  is  only  another  form  of  the  demand 
for  the  organic  nature  of  the  imaginative  cre 
ation. 

As  the  minor  operations  of  the  imagination 
in  poetry  were  illustrated  from  Wordsworth's, 
lines  To  the  Daisy,  we  may  turn  to  the  same 


42  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

poet  for  an  instance  of  its  larger  activities. 
The  Lines  written  above  Tintern  Abbey  are 
perhaps  the  richest  expression,  in  moderate 
compass,  of  Wordsworth's  characteristic  im 
aginative  interpretation  of  Nature.  In  the  ac 
count  there  given  of  his  spiritual  develop 
ment,  we  learn  how  he  mounted  by  successive 
stages  to  an  ever  larger  and  more  comprehens 
ive  view  of  the  natural  universe,  the  range 
of  his  vision  ever  widening  as  his  insight 
grew  more  profound,  until  he 

learned 

To  look  on  nature,  not  as  in  the  hour 
Of  thoughtless  youth  ;  but  hearing  oftentimes 
The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity, 
Nor  harsh  nor  grating,  though  of  ample  power 
To  chasten  and  subdue.  And  I  have  felt 
A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts  ;  a  sense  sublime 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living  air, 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man  ; 
A  motion  and  a  spirit,  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things. 

Here  we  have  the  poet  grappling  with  an 
almost  cosmic  range  of  phenomena,  yet  with 
superb  power,  and  an  unsurpassed  majesty  of 
expression,  re-creating  them  as  parts  of  a  vast 


IMAGINATION  IN  POETRY  43 

imaginative  conception.  The  passage  quoted, 
though  remarkably  free  from  pure  abstraction, 
considering  the  theme,  yet  hardly  does  justice 
to  the  poem  as  a  whole,  which  contains  else 
where,  in  its  vivid  sketches  of  natural  scen 
ery,  the  element  of  the  concrete  which,  as  we 
have  stated,  belongs  to  full  imaginative  ex 
pression. 

Such  an  illustration,  however,  is  not  with 
out  danger;  for  its  very  extreme  of  univers 
ality,  though  related  to  an  individual  experi 
ence,  may  tend  to  confirm  the  impression, 
easily  gathered  from  discussions  on  the  uni 
versal  element  in  art,  that  poetry  cannot  reach  i 
great  imaginative  heights  unless  when  its  re 
lation  to  the  great  problems  of  life  is  explicitly 
treated.  But  in  such  a  poem  as  Coleridge's 
Kubla  Khan  we  have  no  wrestling  with  spir 
itual  questions,  no  lofty  solution  of  the  prob 
lem  of  conduct  found  through  brooding  on 
the  beauties  of  nature.  Instead,  a  thousand 
impressions  received  from  the  senses,  from 
records  of  Oriental  travel,  from  numberless 
romantic  tales,  have  been  taken  in  by  the  au 
thor,  dissolved  as  in  a  crucible  by  the  fierce 
heat  of  his  imagination,  and  are  poured  forth 
a  molten  stream  of  sensuous  imagery,  meal- 


44  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

culable  in  its  variety  of  suggestion,  yet  homo 
geneous,  unified,  and,  despite  its  fragmentary 
character,  the  ultimate  expression  of  a  whole 
romantic  world.  In  such  a  creation,  no  less 
than  in  the  lofty  spiritual  and  ethical  contents 
of  a  Divine  Comedy  or  a  Faust,  may  we  see 
imagination  accomplishing  its  characteristic 
work. 

Ill 

But  the  imagination  operates  in  poetry  in 
still  another  fashion,  in  which  the  process  is 
neither  that  of  "playing  with  similes,"  nor 
the  construction  of  ideal  syntheses  or  extra- 
natural  worlds,  but  appears  rather  in  its  capac 
ity  to  call  up  in  the  reader  the  consciousness 
of  a  peculiar  mood,  or  atmosphere,  or  ecstasy. 
Great  imaginative  verse  has  often  a  power  of 
moving  us  to  depths  of  our  nature  so  pro 
found  that  we  can  only  vaguely  grope  after 
the  forces  which  stir  us.  One  hesitates  to  at 
tempt  to  describe  these  results  in  precise 
terms,  lest  in  the  process  limitations  should 
be  implied  which  would  contradict  the  very 
qualities  one  is  seeking  to  express.  The  method 
of  the  concrete  example  is  safest  here.  In  such 
passages  as 


IMAGINATION  IN   POETRY  45 

Not  mine  own  fears,  nor  the  prophetic  soul 

Of  the  wide  world  dreaming  on  things  to  come  : 

Ah,  sunflower,  weary  of  Time  ! 

The  wan  Moon  is  setting  behind  the  white  wave, 
And  Time  is  setting  with  me,  oh : 

I  long  to  talk  with  some  old  lover's  ghost, 
Who  died  before  the  god  of  love  was  born  : 

there  is  this  in  common,  that  all  deal  with  the 
conception  of  Time;  Time  ever-coming  and 
ever -going,  without  beginning  and  without 
end,  awful,  irresistible,  infinite.  Parallel  to 
this  is  the  idea  that  does  most  to  give  Para 
dise  Lost  its  elevation  and  its  power,  the  ever- 
present  sense  of  the  immensity  of  space  — 

a  dark 

Illimitable  ocean  without  bound, 

Without  dimension  ;  where  length,  breadth,  and  highth, 
And  time  and  place  are  lost  .  .  . 

.  .  .  this  wild  Abyss, 
The  womb  of  Nature,  and  perhaps  her  grave. 

The  Prometheus  Unbound  of  Shelley  is 
thronged  with  passages  that  thrill  with  the 
same  suggestion : 

On  the  brink  of  the  night  and  the  morning 
My  coursers  are  wont  to  respire, 

sings  his  Spirit  of  the  Hour. 


46  ESSENTIALS   OF  POETRY 

Emotions  of  a  similar  intensity  are  roused 
by  the  idea  of  Death.  So  Nashe  in  his  Litany: 

Brightness  falls  from  the  air  ; 
Queens  have  died  young  and  fair  ; 
Dust  hath  closed  Helen's  eye  : 
I  am  sick,  I  must  die. 

Lord,  have  mercy  on  us  ! 

Or  by  the  idea  of  Fate,  as  in  Drummond's 
lines  : 

If  crost  with  all  mishaps  be  my  poor  life, 

If  one  short  day  I  never  spent  in  mirth, 

If  my  spright  with  itself  holds  lasting  strife, 

If  sorrow's  death  is  but  new  sorrow's  birth, 

If  this  vain  world  be  but  a  sable  stage 

Where  slave-born  man  plays  to  the  scoffing  stars  — 

Or  by  the  human  powers  that  make  a  brave 
fight  against  Time  and  Death  and  Fate,  like 
beauty  or  the  will  of  man  : 

Was  this  the  face  that  launcht  a  thousand  ships 

And  burnt  the  topless  towers  of  Ilium  ? 

Sweet  Helen,  make  me  immortal  with  a  kiss.  .  .  . 

O  thou  art  fairer  than  the  evening  air, 

Clad  in  the  beauty  of  a  thousand  stars ! 

In  these  familiar  passages,  which  I  have 
brought  together  on  account  of  their  lofty  and 
unmistakable  imaginative  quality,  there  is,  of 
course,  abundant  evidence  of  sheer  technical 
mastery  over  the  means  of  expression.  The 
choice  of  figure  and  epithet,  the  splendor  of 


IMAGINATION  IN  POETRY  47 

diction,  the  delicate  manipulation  of  conso 
nant  and  vowel,  the  superb  cadences  of  the 
verse  are  all  in  themselves  such  as  to  excite 
our  aesthetic  sensibilities  by  their  pure  beauty 
of  form.  But  these  technical  means  are  not 
justly  estimated  if  we  treat  them  as  separable 
from  the  substance  of  the  poems  which  they 
express.  This  substance,  as  we  have  noted  in 
the  groups  in  which  I  have  arranged  the  selec 
tions,  has  this  characteristic  in  all  of  them, 
that  it  deals  with  the  great  simple  things  that  ^ 
are  fundamental  in  human  life.  In  such  pass 
ages  it  is  not  always  the  case  that  the  elemental 
conceptions  are  so  explicit  as  in  those  just 
cited;  but  it  appears  that  the  supreme  power 
of  imagination  is  manifested  especially  when 
it  is  concerned,  directly  or  indirectly,  with 
such  conceptions.  We  may  not  be  able  to  per 
ceive  it  in  all  instances;  but  the  more  one 
dwells  on  the  nature  of  the  poetic  experience, 
the  more  is  one  inclined  to  believe  that  a  prime  vl 
function  of  the  poetic  imagination  is  to  reveal, 
to  the  emotions  if  not  always  to  the  intellect, 
the  essential  relation  of  all  the  phenomena 
with  which  it  deals  to  the  ultimate  realities 
of  life  and  death  and  the  universe.  The  sense 
of  contact  with  the  infinite  which  is  thus 


n 

48  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

brought  home  to  us  may  have  either  of  two 
effects  on  our  spirits.  In  its  presence,  man  as 
a  physical  being  may  feel  himself  dwarfed 
and  depressed,  so  absurdly  minute  and  futile 
is  he  in  comparison  with  cosmic  forces  and 
the  great  mysteries  of  existence.  But  this 
effect  may  be  overcome  if  he  becomes  aware 
of  himself  as  a  part  of  Nature,  and,  entering 
with  buoyant  sympathy  into  her  processes,  be 
holds  joyously  and  with  no  alien  detachment 
the  marvel  of  the  springtime,  and  the  n-ever- 
ending  renewal  of  life.  It  is  overcome,  too, 
when  he  realizes  his  dignity  as  a  spiritual 
being.  Then  the  consciousness  that  by  virtue 
of  his  higher  nature  he  has  himself  a  kinship 
with  the  infinite,  produces  in  him  a  splendid 
exhilaration,  rising  into  pure  ecstasy,  and  thus 
affording  the  loftiest  experience  which  the 
artistic  imagination  has  to  bestow. 


CHAPTER  III 

IMAGINATION   AND  ROMANTICISM 

THE  foregoing  account  of  the  manifesta 
tions  of  the  imagination  in  poetry  is  of  neces 
sity  fragmentary  and  inadequate,  but  it  may 
serve  to  indicate  with  sufficient  definiteness 
the  senses  in  which  the  term  will  be  used  when 
we  turn  now  to  consider  the  validity  of  the 
proposition  that  in  the  predominance  of  this  1 
fajculty  lies  the  essence  of  Romanticism. 

No  term  in  aesthetic  criticism  is  so  loosely 
used  as  .Romanticism,  none^sp  variously  defiiieol. 
It  has  been  employed  to  describe  the  unearth- 
liness  of  Blake  and  the  earthliness  of  Crabbe, 
the  democracy  of  Burns' and  the  feudalism  of 
Scott,  the  faith  of  Wordsworth  and  scepticism 
of  Byron,  the  literalism  of  Thomson  and  the 
landscapes,  flooded  with  "  the  light  that  never 
was  on  sea  or  land,"  that  hover  in  the  back 
ground  of  the  spiritual  visions  of  Shelley.  The 
attempt  to  bring  order  and  some  unity  of  con 
ception  into  this  chaos  requires  no  small  degree 
of  courage. 

Among  the  host  of  definitions  that  have 


60  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

been  offered  there  are  three  that  have  been 
especially  persistent.  Heine,  speaking  of  the 

/  Komantic  School  in  Germany,  finds  the  heart 
of  the  movement  in  the  return  to  the  Middle 
Ages.  French  critics  have  laid  especial  stress 

jon  the  growth  of  the_subjective  element,  and 

(speak  of  the  "rediscovery  of  the  soul"  and 
the  "rebirth  of  the  spiritual."  In  England,  the 

J  favorite  phrase  has  been  the  "  return  to  Nature," 
with  a  special  reference  to  the  increased  pro 
minence,  in  the  poetry  of  the  time,  of  direct 

y  description  of  external  beauty.  ( All  three  as 
pects,  and  many  others,  are  found  in  all  three 
countries]  sometimes  in  separate  groups,  some 
times  in  the  work  of  one  man.  They  are, 
therefore,  not  mutually  exclusive,  nor,  even  if 
taken  together,  do  they  comprehend  the  whole 
variety  of  tendencies  to  which  the  name  Ro 
manticism  has  been  applied.  Yet  they  are 
sufficiently  representative  to  serve  as  starting 
points  from  which  we  may  proceed  to  test  the 
adequacy  of  the  formula  proposed.  It  will  be 
found  that  the  definitions  just  alluded  to,  and 
many  others  of  a  similar  kind,  all  fall  short  of 
success,  because  they  seize  upon  certain  results 
and  manifestations  of  the  tendency,  and  mis 
take  these  for  the  force  that  lies  behind. 


IMAGINATION  AND   ROMANTICISM         51 


The  conception  of  EpjoianiicismAS_Me^ieyal- 
ism  is  suspicious  in  its  very  simplicity.  The  de 
tection  of  Romantic  elements  in  any  art,  in  any 
period,  would  become  delightfully  easy,  it  would 
seem,  if  we  had  only  to  look  for  the  appear 
ance  of  the  characteristics  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
But  this  simplicity  begins  to  disappear  as  soon 
as  we  ask  what  were  the 


Middle_Ages.  If  we  turn  to  the  historian  for 
an  answer  to  this  question,  we  find  at  once 
that  the  Middle  Ages  were  as^pmplex  in  their 
characteristics  as  they  are  vague  in  their  chron 
ological  boundaries.  This  period  is  not  toJie 
thought  of  as  a  term  of  years  during  whicn 
the  intellect  of  Western  Europe  was  eitheip 
stationary  or  all  of  one  type.  The  more  ond 
studies  the  Middle  Ages,  the  less  simple  they 
become,  and  the  less  fitted  to  supply  a  con 
venient  adjective  for  the  labelling  of  a  single 
artistic  tendency. 

A  single  instance  from  medieval  literature 
will  make  this  clear.  Story-telling  was  a  favor 
ite  recreation  of  an  age  of  slow  journeys  and 
abundant  leisure,  and  a  vast  body  of  tales  of 
all  kinds  has  come  down  to  us.  Among  these 


52  ESSENTIALS   OF  POETRY 

one  finds  a  fairly  well-defined  type  which  one 
can  imagine  to  have  formed  the  chief  amuse 
ment  of  travellers,  as  they  sat  round  the  inn 
fire.  A  considerable  number  of  these  stories 
were  taken  up  by  poets,  and  in  their  verse 
form  are  known  as  Fabliaux..  The  typical  sit- 
r  uation  in  the  Fabliau  concerns  the  intrigue  of 
y  monk  or  priest  with  the  wife  of  a  layman, 
and  the  joke  may  be  at  the  expense  of  any  one 
lof  the  three.  The  spirit  of  these  tales  is  lightly 
(cynical,  their  tone  non-moral,  their  method 
(thoroughly  realistic.  The  manners  are  pictured 
from  contemporary  life,  and  neither  in  motive 
nor  in  characterization  is  there  more  than  a 
bare  minimum  of  idealization.  The  Tales  of 
the  Miller  and  the  Reeve  in  Chaucer's  Canter- 
,  are  good  specimens.  Here  is  a 


characteristic  medieval  product,  yet  no  one, 
surely,  would  regard  it  as  romantic. 

This  is  only  one  example  of  many;  and  the 
inference  is  clear  that  before  "  medieval  "  can 
be  of  any  service  in  describing  romantic  tend 
encies,  it  is  necessary  to  discriminate.  For  there 
are  to  be  found  in  the  literature  and  art  of  the 
Middle  Ages  abundant  phenomena  that  ex 
plain,  if  they  do  not  justify,  such  a  dictum  as 
that  of  Heine's  ;  and  to  one  of  these  we  can 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         63 

find  a  clue  in  the  very  word  "  romantic  "  itself. 
Jts  characteristic  application  at  the  beginning 
of  the  eighteenth  -  century  revival  seems  to 
have  been  due  to  the  interest  in  the  great 
medieval  romance§_o£_ adventure,  represented 
in  Germany  most  prominently  by  the  work  of 
Wolfram  von  Eschenbach..  The  most  striking 
point  of  contrast  between  these  works  and  the 
art  of  the  eighteenth  century  liesjnjhe^upjer- 
abundance  of  imagination*  Not  only  was  the 
more  modern  reader  stimulated  by  the  remote 
ness  and  strangeness  of  the  civilization  repre 
sented;  not  only  did  the  romances  contain  a 
large  element  of  the  miraculous  and  the  su 
pernatural  ;  but  the  dominant  spirit  of  these 
extraordinary  narratives  was  that  of  endless 
aspiration,  of  the  ideal  quest,  of  devotion  to 
objects  presented  by  the  imagination :  knightly 
honor,  the  chivalric  attitude  towards  woman, 
a  fervid  if  external  loyalty  to  the  church.  It 
may  be  that  these  aspirations  found  but  a 
poor  degree  of  realization  in  the  actual  life  of 
the  time  :  that  by  no  means  weakens  the  claim 
that  the  romances  were  in  a  high  degree  im- 
agin&tive,  and  that  it  was  their  imaginative 
quality  that  roused  the  interest  and  sympathy 
of  the  modern  romanticists. 


54  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

The  predominance  of  imagination  in  this 
branch  of  secular  literature  finds  its  parallel  in 
the  religious  thought  of  the  Middle  Ages.  To 
the  existence  of  the  element  of  reason,  the  close 
and  subtle  argument  to  be  found  in  the  vast 
tomes  of  the  Schoolmen  bears  ample  witness; 
but  it  was  not  to  the  Aristotelian  theology  of 
that  time  that  the  eighteenth  century  returned. 
v  |  It  was  rather  to  the  Platonic  tradition;  to  the 
element  of  mysticism  and  asceticism  ;  to  that 
side  of  medieval  religion  which  despised  the 
I/actual  'fforld,  mortified  the  flesh,  and  turned 
1 1  its  yearning  gaze  to  the  invisible  and  eternal. 
From  religion  this  spirit  passed  to  religious 
art ;  and  in  the  rhapsodies  of  the  books  of  de 
votion,  in  religious  lyric  and  allegory,  in  the 
endless  paintings  of  Christ  and  the  Virgin,  in 
the  architecture  of  the  churches,  one  finds  the 
same  reaching  through  and  past  the  actual  and 
Attainable  towards  ideals  held  glimmering  by 
(the  imagination  before  the  eyes  of  the  soul. 
Hence  arises  in  the  art  of  this  period  the  pe 
culiar  glory  of  the  imperfect,  testifying  to  no 
low  standards,  but  rather  to  a  divine  discon 
tent  with  what  can  be  perfectly  achieved,  in 
comparison  with  the  dimly  apprehended  but 
infinitely  loftier  objects  of  the  spiritual  vision. 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         66 

No  one,  in  our  time,  has  expressed  this 
quality  in  medieval  art  more  effectively  than 
Browning.  In  one  of  his  poems1  he  contrasts 
the  perfection  of  Greek  sculpture  with  the  un 
fulfilled  ideals  and  the  crude  technic  of  the 
medieval  painters,  the  superb  Apollos  and  ra 
diant  Aphrodites  with  the  haggard  Christsand 
wan  Madonnas. 

Growth  came  when,  looking  your  last  on  them 2  all. 

You  turned  your  eyes  inwardly  one  fine  day 
And  cried  with  a  start  —  What  if  we  so  small 

Be  greater  and  grander  the  while  than  they  ? 
Are  they  perfect  of  lineament,  perfect  of  stature  ? 

In  both,  of  such  lower  type  are  we 
Precisely  because  of  our  wider  nature  ; 

For  time,  theirs  —  ours,  for  eternity. 

To-day's  brief  passion  limits  their  range  ; 

It  seethes  with  the  morrow  for  us  and  more. 
They  are  perfect — how  else  ?  they  shall  never  change  : 

We  are  faulty  —  why  not  ?  we  have  time  in  store. 
The  Artificer's  hand  is  not  arrested 

With  us  ;  we  are  rough-hewn,  nowise  polished  : 
They  stand  for  our  copy,  and,  once  invested 

With  all  they  can  teach,  we  shall  see  them  abolished, 

'T  ia  a  life-long  toil  till  our  lump  be  leaven  — 

The  better  !  What 's  come  to  perfection  perishes. 
Things  learned  on  earth,  we  shall  practise  in  heaven  : 

Works  done  least  rapidly,  Art  most  cherishes. 
Thyself  shalt  afford  the  example,  Giotto  ! 

Thy  one  work,  not  to  decrease  or  diminish, 
Done  at  a  stroke,  was  just  (was  it  not  ?)  "  O  ! " 

Thy  great  Campanile  is  still  to  finish. 

1  Old  Pictures  in  Florence.          2  The  Greek  sculptures. 


66  ESSENTIALS  OF   POETRY 

This  is  nothing  but  the  plea  for  the  suprem- 
icy  of  the  imagination,  for  the  romantic  with 
its  aspiration  and  incompleteness,  against  the 
classic  with  its  limitations  and  perfections. 

|\  With  every  great  movement  for  the  revival 
of  neglected  factors  in  life  and  art,  there  is 
likely  to  be  found  an  accompaniment  of  in 
sincerity  and  cant.  StupicJ  and  shallow  people 
will  associate  themselves  ^ith  what  promises 
to  be  the  coming  thing,  and  will  degrade  a 
noble  enthusiasm  into  a  petty  fad.  They  will 
fail  to  catch  the  spirit,  and,  seizing  holcj 
of  externals,  will  confuse  issues  and  tend  to 
discredit  the  new  gospel  by  vulgarizing  its 
symbols. 

Of  this  general  tendency  there  are  abundant 
instances  in  the  history  of  modern  Roman 
ticism,  and  to  these  is  due  no  small  part  of 
the  confusion  which  we  are  seeking  to  remove. 
The  work  of  Horace  Walpole  gives  a  good 
illustration.  By  temperament  and  habit  Wal 
pole  was  a  type  of  the  elegant  man  of  fashion 
and  taste  in  a  restrained  and  prosaic  age ;  yet 
he  happened  to  have  the  hobby  of  making 
"  Gothic  "  collections,  and  he  built  a  mansion 
with  what  he  supposed  were  medieval  battle- 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         57 

ments.  He  also  wrote  a  tale  full  of  what  was 
supposed  to  be  medieval  atmosphere,  in  which 
he  revelled  in  subterranean  passages,  cowled 
monks,  mysterious  ruins,  gigantic  armor,  and 
the  whole  paraphernalia  of  cheap  supernatur- 
alism.  Yet  in  all  this  there  is  little  that  is  really 
medieval,  little  genuine  enthusiasm  for  the  true 
spirit  of  any  aspect  of  the  life  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  and,  in  spite  of  the  superfluity  of  un 
reality,  little  real  imaginative  vitality.  No  stu 
dent  of  the  Middle  Ages  will  object  to  our 
calling  it  pseudo-medievalism ;  those  who  have 
followed  the  argument  thus  far  will  agree  that 
it  is  also  pseudo-romanticism.  And  under  the 
same  condemnation  must  be  placed  the  greater 
part  of  that  litter  of  which  The  Castle  of 
Otranto  is  usually  regarded  as  the  parent :  the 
"  Gothic  romances  "  of  Clara  Reeves  and  Mrs. 
Eadcliff  e,  such  as  The  Old  English  Baron  and 
The  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,  the  "  terror " 
novels  and  dramas  of  "  Monk "  Lewis,  and 
their  relatives  on  both  sides  of  the  Channel, 
so  admirably  satirized  in  the  parodies  of  the 
Anti-Jacobin  and  in  the  Northanyer  Abbey 
of  Jane  Austen. 

A  grave  defect  of  the  histories  of  the  ra 
mantic  revival  is  the  listing  of  all  this  rub 


68  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

bish  as  evidence  of  the  growth  of  Romanticism. 
Evidences  in  a  sense  they  are,  instances  they 
are  not;  for  they  lack  the  essential  element, 
a  dominant  and  vital  imaginativeness.  They 
are  the  uninspired  product  of  imitation,  ignor 
ance,  and  a  misapplied  ingenuity;  concoctions, 
not  growths;  using  the  mere  externals,  such 
as  furniture,  costumes,  armor,  architecture, 
archaisms  of  speech  and  of  belief,  for  the  set 
ting  forth  of  a  pretended  picture  of  a  civiliza 
tion  whose  spirit  they  neither  shared  nor  com 
prehended.  We  still  await  the  historian  of 
the  medieval  revival  who  shall  treat  this  whole 
matter  with  discrimination ;  and  who,  with  a 
real  knowledge  of  the  Middle,  Ages  and  their 
imaginative  life,  will  separate  the  true  from 
the  false  in  the  art  that  claims  that  age  as  the 
source  of  its  inspiration. 

An  instance  on  the  other  side  will  complete 
our  present  treatment  of  this  part  of  the  sub 
ject.  The  novels  and  romances  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott  employ  lavishly  the  external  trappings 
so  familiar  in  the  "  Gothic  romance,"  though 
he  was  too  good  an  antiquary  to  fall  into  the 
frequent  absurdities  of  the  writers  who  were 
in  some  sort  his  predecessors.  But  his  claim 
to  be  a  true  medievalist  and  a  genuine  Roman- 


IMAGINATION  AND   ROMANTICISM         59 

ticist  does  not  depend  on  his  archaeology,  bu^; 
on  the  vitality  of  his  imaginative  reconstruct 
tions,  the  reality  of  his  imaginative  sympathy. 
No  reader  of  Scott's  life  will  deny  that  his 
ruling  passion  was  the  sense  of  honor.  Such 
incidents  as  that  of  the  proposed  duel  with  Gen 
eral  Gourgaud,  and  his  conduct  after  the  fail 
ure  of  his  publishers,  exhibit  the  application 
of  the  spirit  of  the  age  of  chivalry  to  the  life 
of  a  modern  author.  His  pride  of  ancestry, 
his  ambition  to  found  a  family,  the  feudal  ele 
ment  in  his  personal  relations,  are  all  redeemed 
from  the  charge  of  snobbishness  by  the  touch 
of  imagination.  For  him  the  reason  and  the 
sense  of  fact  were  elements  in  life  and  litera 
ture  to  which  common  sense  demanded  a  re 
spectful  attention;  but  it  was  from  the  highly 
colored  vision  of  a  bygone  age  that  he  drew 
his  positive  inspiration. 

To  sum  up :  the  elements  in  medieval  life  and 
art  that  have  provided  stimulus  to  modern  ro 
mantic  writers  have  been  those  which,  whether 
secular  or  religious,  were  marked  by  a  high 
degree  of  ideal  aspiration  ;  in  other  words,  by 
ruling  conceptions  in  which  the  dominant 
power  is  imagination.  By  virtue  of  this,  the 
revival  of  certain  aspects  of  medievalism,  when 


60  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

genuinely  sympathetic  and  not  merely  external 
and  imitative,  may  be  regarded  as  a  true 
phase  of  Romanticism. 

II 

We  turn  now  to  the  conception  of  Roman 
ticism  as  subjectivity.  It  is  entirely  natural  that 
in  France  we  should  find  the  chief  stress  laid 
on  this  aspect.  After  the  terrible  cataclysm  of 
the  Revolution  and  the  years  of  turmoil  which 
succeeded  the  downfall  of  the  old  regime, 
when  men  were  worn  out  by  the  endless  vicis 
situdes  of  external  affairs,  when  hope  of  just 
ice  and  stability  was  all  but  abandoned,  the 
soul  of  man,  tired  and  battered  in  its  search  for 
peace,  turned  in  upon  itself.  It  was  but  one  phase 
of  the  permanent  tendency  of  humanity,  in 
periods  of  great  calamity,  to  seek  in  the  spirit 
ual  realm  the  solace  and  satisfaction  which  the 
world  refuses  to  give.  The  waves  of  religious 
and  superstitious  emotion  which  pass  over  na 
tions  after  great  pestilences  and  devastating 
wars,  are  only  another  manifestation  of  the 
same  impulse.  In  the  France  of  a  hundred 
years  ago  we  find  not  only  an  external  rees- 
tablishment  of  Catholicism  as  a  part  of  the 
policy  of  Napoleon,  but  a  much  more  profound 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         61 

and  intimate  revival  of  religion  in  the  move 
ment  typified  by  Chateaubriand  in  his  Genie 
du  Chris  tianisme.  This  movement  was  not  pri 
marily  theological.  Those  who  shared  in  it 
were  still  suffering  from  the  reaction  against 
the  arid  rationalism  of  the  age  of  Voltaire, 
which  had  culminated  in  the  negations  of  the 
Revolution ;  the  satisfactions  they  were  seeking 
were  imaginative,  emotional,  sentimental. 

From  this  turning  from  the  external  to  the 
internal  world,  there  resulted  a  vastly  increased 
sense  of  the  importance  of  the  individual  soul, 
and  from  this  many  of  the  most  noted  features 
of  the  literature  of  the  time.  In  poetry,  for 
example,  the  most  characteristic  result  of  this 
subjectivity,  this  moving  of  the  centre  of  in 
terest  from  society  to  the  individual,  and,  in 
the  individual,  to  his  moods  and  emotions, 
was  the  predominance  of  lyric.  Of  all  forms 
of  literature,  the  lyric  is  that  most  purely 
the  outcome  of  the  desire  for  self-expression. 
Its  essence  is  the  outpouring  of  personal 
emotion,  the  utterance  of  individual  mood, 
—  yearning,  suffering,  joy,  or  regret ;  not  in 
general  by  a  story,  or  through  the  mouth 
of  a  dramatic  character,  or  by  description 
or  by  argument,  but  by  a  direct  cry  forced 


62  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

from  the  heart  of  the  poet  by  sheer  internal 
pressure. 

The  prevailing  mood  of  the  eighteenth  cen 
tury,  as  has  often  been  noted,  was  alien  to 
all  such  utterance.  The  strong  social  element 
in  the  life  of  the  time,  the  weight  of  con 
vention,  the  horror  of  eccentricity  and  excess, 
all  tended  to  suppress  the  impulse  to  direct 
personal  utterance;  and,  as  a  result,  the  lyric 
forms  withered.  In  England,  the  sonnet, 
most  concentrated  of  these  lyric  forms,  all  but 
disappeared;  the  ode  became  a  procession  of 
abstractions  draped  in  flowing  garments,  per 
sonifications  without  personality ;  the  song 
was  a  frigid  assemblage  of  outworn  metaphors, 
—  chains  and  charms  and  flames,  —  a  herba 
rium,  not  a  garden. 

Let  us  make  this  more  clear  in  our  recollec 
tion  by  a  typical  example.  Here  is  a  poem  by 
Samuel  Rogers,  a  good  specimen  of  the  eight 
eenth-century  method  and  spirit,  though  the 
author  lived  far  into  the  nineteenth. 

TO   A  TEAR 

Oh !  that  the  Chemist's  magic  art 

Could  crystallize  this  sacred  treasure ! 

Long  should  it  glitter  near  my  heart, 
A  secret  source  of  pensive  pleasure. 


IMAGINATION   AND   ROMANTICISM         63 

The  little  brilliant,  ere  it  fell, 

Its  lustre  caught  from  Chloe's  eye  ; 

Then,  trembling,  left  its  coral  cell,  — 
The  spring  of  Sensibility  ! 

Sweet  drop  of  pure  and  pearly  light ! 

In  thee  the  rays  of  Virtue  shine, 
More  calmly  clear,  more  mildly  bright, 

Than  any  gem  that  gilds  the  mine. 

Benign  restorer  of  the  soul ! 

Who  ever  fliest  to  bring  relief, 
When  first  we  feel  the  rude  control 

Of  Love  or  Pity,  Joy  or  Grief. 

The  sage's  and  the  poet's  theme, 

In  every  clime,  in  every  age  ; 
Thou  charm'st  in  Fancy's  idle  dream, 

In  Reason's  philosophic  page. 

That  very  law  which  moulds  a  tear, 
And  bids  it  trickle  from  its  source, 

That  law  preserves  the  earth  a  sphere, 
And  guides  the  planets  in  their  course. 

Given  the  technic,  and  the  scientific  in 
formation  about  attraction  and  gravitation  so 
ingeniously  employed  in  the  last  stanza,  these 
lines  might  have  been  written  by  any  man,  to 
any  weeping  woman,  anywhere,  at  any  time. 
Despite  the  mention  of  "my  heart,"  the  poet 
remains  decently  in  the  background ;  and  we 
are  presented  with  a  series  of  elegant  reflec 
tions  on  weeping,  without  a  touch  of  person- 


64  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

ality.  The  poem  throughout  is  general,  ob 
jective,  and  rational. 

Contrast  with  this  a  typical  romantic  utter 
ance  by  Keats : 

When  I  have  fears  that  I  may  cease  to  be 

Before  my  pen  has  glean'd  my  teeming  brain, 
Before  high  piled  books,  in  charactery, 

Hold  like  rich  garners  the  full  ripen'd  grain  ; 
When  I  behold,  upon  the  night's  starr'd  face, 

Huge  cloudy  symbols  of  a  high  romance, 
And  think  that  I  may  never  live  to  trace 

Their  shadows,  with  the  magic  hand  of  chance  ; 
And  when  I  feel,  fair  creature  of  an  hour  ! 

That  I  shall  never  look  upon  thee  more, 
Never  have  relish  in  the  faery  power 

Of  unreflecting  love  ;  —  then  on  the  shore 
Of  the  wide  world  I  stand  alone,  and  think 

Till  love  and  fame  to  nothingness  do  sink. 

Here  we  have  the  romantic  poet  profoundly 
occupied  with  himself,  plunged  in  dejection 
at  the  thought  of  the  possibility  of  his  dying 
before  his  time,  viewing  the  world  and  his 
love  purely  from  the  point  of  view  of  what  he 
has  to  lose  in  leaving  them,  and  deeming  the 
spectacle  of  his  private  tragedy  worthy  of  being 
given  to  the  world  in  splendid  verse.  Apart 
from  the  negative  difference,  the  freedom  from 
the  checks  and  inhibitions  which  would  have 
made  such  a  personal  exposure  impossible  to  a 
writer  of  the  school  of  Pope,  there  is  present 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         65 

here  a  positive  element,  an  implicit  faith  that 
such  intimate  matters  are  really  important  and 
worthy  of  artistic  expression,  an  intuition  that 
the  magnitude  of  such  spiritual  experiences  is 
not  to  be  judged  by  the  social  or  political  un 
importance  of  the  sufferer. 

Assuming  that  we  are  now  clear  as  to  what 
is  meant  by  the  subjectivity  that  some  have 
chosen  to  regard  as  the  essence  of  Romanti 
cism,  we  have  to  inquire  into  the  possibility  of 
harmonizing  this  view  with  the  theory  that 
that  essence  lies  in  the  predominance  of  im 
agination. 

A  main  reason  for  refusing  to  take  Sub 
jectivity  and  Romanticism  as  equivalent  terms 
is  the  fact  that  subjective  utterances  are  by 
no  means  always  romantic.  Sentimental  liter 
ature,  for  instance,  with  its  nursing  of  emotion 
and  cultivation  of  mood  for  the  sake  of  egois 
tic  enjoyment,  is  essentially  subjective,  yet  it 
is  to  be  distinguished  from  romantic  literature. 
This  sentimental  activity  does,  indeed,  often 
involve  the  imagination,  but  uses  it  as  a  ser 
vant,  not  as  a  master.  It  is  merely  a  tool  in 
the  service  of  feeling;  but  feeling  is  the  pre 
dominant  element  in  such  literature.1 

1  For  a  further  discussion  of  this  point,  see  chapter  VII. 


66  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

On  the  other  hand.  Romanticism  always  has 
a  subjective  element  because  of  the  nature 
of  its  dominant  factor,  imagination.  All  the 
various  activities  of  this  faculty,  from  the 
poet's  observation  of  a  daisy  to  his  revelation 
of  Eternity  as  the  refuge  of  the  soul,  are 
determined  by  the  personality  of  the  artist. 
"  Art,"  says  Emerson,  "  is  Nature  passed 
through  the  alembic  of  man."  We  would  mod 
ify  this  when  speaking  of  highly  imaginative 
art,  and  say,  "  passed  through  the  alembic  of 
a^man."  As  opposed  to  reason,  whose  syllo 
gisms  are  supposed  to  be  valid  for  all  intel 
lects,  and  the  sense  of  fact,  which  deals  with 
things  as  they  are,  external  and  unmodified 
by  personality,  imagination  is  essentially  sub 
jective.  My  reason,  so  far  as  it  is  purely  ra 
tional,  is  everybody's  reason ;  the  facts  I  per 
ceive,  so  far  as  they  are  mere  facts,  are 
anybody's  facts;  but  my  imagination  is  my 
own.  Imagination  is  the  function  which  inter 
prets  the  universe  in  the  terms  of  a  single 
soul.  Even  with  respect  to  artists  like  Shake 
speare  and  Scott,  who  are  often  taken  as  types 
of  the  objective  writer,  as  opposed  to  subject 
ive  lyrists  like  Shelley,  we  find  ourselves 
speaking  naturally  of  "  the  world  of  Shake- 


IMAGINATION   AND   ROMANTICISM         67 

speare"  or  "the  world  of  Scott,"  thus  implic 
itly  asserting  that  their  imaginative  presenta 
tion  of  phases  of  human  life  is  stamped  with 
the  impress  of  their  personality. 

If,  then,  we  find  personality  to  be  thus  an 
essential  element  in  the  framing  of  all  ideal 
conceptions,  it  follows  that  a  certain  amount 
of  subjectivity  will  be  found  in  all  highly  im 
aginative  writing;  and  that,  in  a  period  in 
which  imagination  is  predominant,  poetry  will 
naturally  exhibit  a  strong  tendency  to  be  self- 
conscious  and  introspective.  Or,  looking  at  it 
from  the  other  end,  in  an  age  when  external 
events  are  such  as  to  harass  and  distress,  and 
to  deprive  the  individual  of  the  sense  of  sta 
bility  and  peace,  when  traditions  are  destroyed 
and  the  ancient  landmarks  are  removed,  we 
see  how  natural  it  is  for  the  sensitive  soul  to 
turn  from  the  external  world  to  the  internal, 
from  the  actual  to  the  ideal,  and  to  express  its 
yearnings  and  its  aspirations  in  the  type  of 
poetry  called  romantic. 

It  thus  appears  that  in  the  view  of  Roman 
ticism  which  lays  stress  upon  subjectivity  and 
introspection  there  is  no  fundamental  error, 
only  a  stopping  short  in  thinking  the  matter 
through.  When  it  is  perceived  that  this  sub- 


68  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

jectivity  is  often  a  consequence  of  imaginat 
ive  activity,  it  becomes  clear  that  it  takes  its 
place  alongside  of  the  interest  in  medieval 
idealism  as  a  phase  of  the  predominance  of 
imagination. 

Ill 

The  "  Return  to  Nature  "  has  obviously  as 
many  meanings  as  the  word  Nature  itself,  and 
this  ambiguity  appears  in  the  varied  applica 
tions  which  have  been  made  of  it  in  the  course 
of  literary  history.  Thus,  many  of  the  most 
important  lines  of  activity  in  the  period  of  the 
Renascence  and  the  Reformation  might  be 
described  as  returns  to  nature,  and  some  of 
them  were  so  described.  The  results  of  the 
study  of  anatomy  in  the  art  of  Michelangelo 
were,  in  contrast  with  the  conventional  model 
ling  of  the  human  figure  by  the  medieval  art 
ists,  a  return  to  nature.  The  new  astronomy 
inaugurated  by  Copernicus,  with  its  partial  at 
tempt  at  beginning  with  facts  instead  of  pre 
conceived  theories,  was  a  return  to  nature. 
The  new  science  of  Bacon,  with  its  stress  upon 
observation  and  experiment  in  place  of  Aris 
totelian  deduction,  was  a  return  to  nature.  The 
luxurious  life  of  many  of  the  great  prelates 


r  w* 

IMAGINATION  AND   ROMANTICISM         69 

of  the  Renascence,  with  its  intense  enjoyment 
of  the  harvest  of  the  senses — the  kind  of 
thing  so  vividly  portrayed  by  Browning  in 
The  Bishop  orders  his  Tomb  in  Saint  Prax- 
ed's — was,  in  contrast  with  medieval  ascet 
icism,  a  return  to  nature.  When  Martin 
married  a  wi£ftT  it  wasa  return  tfl  nature  af  te 
the  celibate  ldeals"ancl  practices  of 
val  church.  Any  reassertion  of  their  existence 
and  their  rights  by  neglected  or  suppressed 
elements  in  human  nature,  after  a  period  of 
convention  and  restraint,  is  a  return  to  nature ; 
and  in  this  the  Renascence  in  great  measure 
consisted. 

Again,  by  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth 
century  in  England,  the  highly  decorated  forms 
of  expression  that  had  naturally  sprung  from 
the  exuberant  imaginative  vitality  of  the  Eliz 
abethans  had  grown  stereotyped  and  had  hard 
ened  into  mannerism ;  for  the  attaining  of  sur 
prising  effects,  ingenuity  and  hard  work  had 
taken  the  place  of  spontaneity ;  and  the  gro 
tesque  and  exaggerated  prevailed  instead  of 
a  splendid  extravagance  that  had  been  de 
fensible  because  natural.  An  age  of  greater 
calm  and  reason  found  these  belated  manner 
isms  offensive  and  unnatural,  and  claimed  for 


70  ESSENTIALS  OF   POETRY 

the  rising  neo-classicism  that  it  was  a  return 
to  nature.  And  so  it  was ;  for  to  the  ration 
alism  of  the  eighteenth  century,  restraint  was 
natural. 

But  this  restraint  inevitably  resulted  in  the 
unnatural  curbing  of  tendencies  which  had 
never  died  out,  though  their  expression  was 
for  a  time  obscured.  By  the  end  of  the  century, 
what  was  nature  for  Pope  was  its  antithesis  to 
Wordsworth,  and  the  return  to  nature  became 
once  more  the  battle-cry  of  a  new  revolution. 
Thus  the  phrase  may  be  regarded  as  little  more 
than  a  synonym  for  reaction  against  a  pre-/ 
vailing  despotism  that  denies  free  play  to  in-; 
dividual  impulses.  So  it  has  come  about  that 
some  critics,  bewildered  by  the  multiplicity  of 
so-called  romantic  phenomena,  have  been  fain 
to  fall  back  on  this  reaction  as  the  only  com 
mon  element  uniting  all  phases  of  the  tendency. 
But  our  historical  digression  shows  that  this, 
too,  is  inadequate ;  since,  in  a  larger  view,  such 
a  reaction  is  as  discernible  in  the  dawn  of  class 
ical  as  of  romantic  movements. 

In  the  use  of  the  phrase  in  the  time  of 
Wordsworth,  we  have  to  observe  two  main 
applications :  one  to  human  nature ;  the  other 
to  external  nature.  In  the  former  use,  the 


IMAGINATION   AND  ROMANTICISM         71 

phrase  indicated  a  general  protest  against  the 
conventions  of  the  age.  An  exhaustive  enum 
eration  of  these  is  unnecessary,  but  one  or 
two  may  be  recalled. 

The  excesses  of  the  Puritan  Revolution  in 
the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century  had  re 
sulted  in  a  reaction  against  fanaticism,  enthus 
iasm,  and  the  public  display  of  private  emo 
tion.  After  the  vexatious  restrictions  imposed 
by  Puritan  intolerance,  the  plain  man  in  Eng 
land  longed  to  be  let  alone,  and  was  willing  to 
let  others  alone,  in  religion  and  other  matters 
of  private  concern.  The  prevailing  theology 
became  latitudinarian,  and  religious  discussion 
became  more  argumentative,  less  an  appeal  to 
the  emotions.  Cynicism  became  a  fashionable 
pose;  enthusiasm  was  bad  form.  Private  con 
duct  found  its  sanctions  less  in  individual  con 
viction,  more  in  the  general  agreement  of  social 
common  sense.  Literature  busied  itself  with 
general  types,  treated  externally;  less  with  per 
sonal  revelations.  Artistic  energy  was  devoted 
to  the  achievement  of  technical  excellence,  and 
the  polishing  of  a  few  set  forms  suited  to  the 
expression  of  clearly  thought  but  mildly  felt 
intellectual  views.  Satire,  with  its  exposure  of 
the  objective  fact  and  its  delight  in  incongruity 


72  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

revealed  by  rational  consideration,  became  the 
prevailing  form.  Ridicule,  whether  in  the  per 
sonal  polemics  of  Dryden  and  Pope,  in  the 
fierce  invective  of  Swift,  or  in  the  mild  irony 
of  Addison,  was  the  weapon  most  employed 
and  most  feared.  Everything  tended  to  make 
the  individual  withdraw  into  his  shell. 

Every  one  is  familiar  with  the  typical  scene 
of  the  period,  drawn  by  its  master  hand: 

Close  by  those  meads,  for  ever  crown 'd  with  flow'rs, 
Where  Thames  with  pride  surveys  his  rising  tow'rs, 
There  stands  a  structure  of  majestic  frame, 
Which  from  the  neighb'ring  Hampton  takes  its  name. 
Here  Britain's  statesmen  oft  the  fall  foredoom 
Of  foreign  Tyrants  and  of  Nymphs  at  home  ; 
Here  thou,  great  Anna !  whom  three  realms  obey, 
Dost  sometimes  counsel  take  —  and  sometimes  tea. 

Hither  the  heroes  and  the  nymphs  resort) 
To  taste  awhile  the  pleasures  of  a  Court ; 
In  various  talk  th'  instructive  hours  they  past, 
Who  gave  the  ball,  or  paid  the  visit  last ; 
One  speaks  the  glory  of  the  British  queen, 
And  one  describes  a  charming  Indian  screen  ; 
A  third  interprets  motions,  looks,  and  eyes ; 
At  ev'ry  word  a  reputation  dies. 
Snuff,  or  the  fan,  supply  each  pause  of  chat, 
With  singing,  laughing,  ogling,  and  all  that. 

(The  Rape  of  the  Lock,  m,  1-18.) 

Of  course,  there  is  human  nature  here,  and 
in  abundance.  It  requires  no  very  penetrating 
insight  to  see  that  beneath  the  surface  the  men 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         73 

and  women  of  Pope's  satire  are  of  like  passions 
as  we  are,  and  that  the  emotions  implied  in 
the  "singing,  laughing,  ogling,  and  all  that" 
are  fundamentally  the  same  emotions  that 
burst  into  lurid  flame  in  The  Duchess  of  Malfij 
or  into  the  poignant  cry  of  "Ae  fond  kiss, 
and  then  we  sever."  Then,  as  now, 


Jolonel's  lady  an'  Judy  O'Grady 
Are  sisters  under  their  skins.        _--- 


But  it  did  not  suit  the  taste  of  the  time  to 
realize  these  uncomfortable  relationships.  It 
dealt  with  human  nature;  but  it  was  human 
nature  at  a  tea-party,  wearing  party  manners, 
and  more  concerned  with  etiquette  than  with 
sincerity.  And  because  the  expression  was  re 
stricted,  the  emotion  was  restricted  also. 

In  among  the  guests  of  this  very  proper  tea- 
party  stalked  the  astounding  apparition  of 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau.  Unconventionality 
was  no  word  for  him.  His  unbuttoned  careless 
ness  of  propriety  made  an  indecent  exposure  of 
both  body  and  soul.  His  topics  and  his  method 
of  treatment  were  equally  impossible.  He  wan 
dered  through  the  house  of  life,  opening  all 
the  cupboards  and  pulling  forth  the  skeletons 
that  his  century  had  been  fain  to  suppose  were 
securely  locked  up.  Even  his  sentimentalism. 


74  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

the  tendency  which  more  than  any  other  he 
shared  with  his  time,  he  carried  to  most  repre 
hensible  lengths.  That  he  thus  exposed  the  es 
sential  nature  of  sentimentalism  made  his  con 
duct  none  the  more  pleasing  to  those  who 
wished  to  play  with  it  and  preferred  to  think 
it  innocuous. 

j  Neither  Rousseau  nor  the  return  to  nature 
of  which  he  may  be  taken  as  the  leading  ex 
ponent  can  fairly  be  treated  as  synonymous  with 
Romanticism.  Like  the  state  of  affairs  against 
which  it  reacted,  this  return  to  nature  was 
manifold,  complex,  not  altogether  consistent ; 
and  while  it  contained  important  romantic  ele 
ments,  it  contained  also  divergences  from  the 
existing  modes  in  directions  quite  other  than 
romantic.  The  view  of  Romanticism  as  reac 
tion,  to  which  I  have  made  allusion,  has  this 
among  its  unfortunate  consequences,  that  it 
lumps  together  as  romantic  all  characteristics 
which  in  any  way  stand  in  contrast  with  the 
prevailing  spirit  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

If  we  proceed  to  examine  this  return  to  hu 
man  nature  more  closely,  we  perceive  first  that 
a  chief  element  in  it  is  that  very  subjectivity, 
introspection, and  self-consciousness,  which  has 
already  been  discussed.  The  vindication  of  the 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         75 

right  to  be  interested  in  one's  own  internal 
processes,  of  the  right  to  express  this  inter 
est  in  verse  lyric  or  prose  confession,  we  have 
seen  to  be  vitally  related  to  the  activity  of 
the  imagination,  and  thus  to  be  entitled  to  be 
regarded  as  a  phase  of  Romanticism.  The 
assertion  of  the  rights  of  emotion  is  a  more 
complicated  matter.  The  mere  fact  that  the  ex 
pression  of  emotion  was  restrained  by  the  spirit 
of  the  eighteenth  century  does  not,  as  has  bjeeri 
noted,  justify  us  in  regarding  the  removal  of 
that  restraint  as  necessarily  a  mark  of  Roman 
ticism.  Emotion  stimulates  imagination  and 
is  stimulated  by  it  in  turn,  and  in  so  far  as 
the  free  expression  of  natural  human  feeling 
in  a  poem  is  due  to  imaginative  causes,  it 
is  to  be  reckoned  as  a  romantic  character 
istic.  But  emotion  may  be  roused  by  many 
things  besides  imagination,  and  the  barriers 
to  its  expression  may  be  removed  by  other 
forces.  Thus  in  a  period  like  that  of  the  French 
Revolution,  the  general  sense  of  the  breaking 
of  bonds  which  the  collapse -of  so  large  a  part 
of  the  traditional  structure  of  society  involved, 
gave  free  rein  to  some  kinds  of  emotion  which 
had  their  source  in  faculties  far  removed  from 
the  imagination.  The  emotional  fury  which 


76  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

prompted  many  of  the  horrors  of  the  Reign  of 
Terror,  the  attraction  which  drew  the  crowds 
to  gloat  upon  the  sight  of  the  guillotine  har 
vesting  its  daily  crop,  may  have  had  in  some 
cases  an  original  ideal  element  in  it;  but,  for 
the  most  part,  it  belonged  to  a  much  lower 
range  of  human  experience. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  were  emotions 
particularly  prevalent  at  this  period,  in  which 
the  imaginative  and  romantic  elements  are 
easily  discernible.  The  democratic  attitude, 
when  not  merely  a  theoretic  belief  founded 
solely  on  reason,  when  held  passionately  as  it 
was  often  held  then,  and  is  sometimes  still, 
was  oftener  than  not  due  to  some  ideal  vision 
of  humanity.  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth,  for 
example,  were  both  in  their  younger  manhood 
enthusiastic  sympathizers  with  the  vindication 
of  the  rights  of  man,  and  in  both  cases  their 
sympathy  was  evoked  by  imaginative  pictures. 
Coleridge  was  roused  by  a  generous  indigna 
tion  which  sprang  from  images  of  hardship 
and  injustice  which  thronged  his  mind. 

O  ye  numberless, 

Whom  foul  Oppression's  ruffian  gluttibny 
Drives  from  life's  plenteous  feast  !  O  thou  poor  wretch 
Who,  nursed  in  darkness  and  made  wild  by  want, 
R  earnest  for  prey,  yea,  thy  unnatural  hand 
Dost  lift  to  deeds  of  blood  ! 


IMAGINATION   AND   ROMANTICISM         77 

.     .  .  .  Rest  awhile, 

Children  of  wretchedness  !   The  hour  is  nigh 
And  lo  !  the  Great,  the  Rich,  the  Mighty  Men, 
The  Kings  and  the  Chief  Captains  of  the  World, 
With  all  that,  fixed  on  high  like  stars  of  Heaven, 
Shot  baleful  influence,  shall  be  cast  to  earth, 
Vile  and  down-trodden,  as  the  untimely  fruit 
Shook  from  the  fig-tree  by  a  sudden  storm. 

The  literary  critic  regards  this  as  impassioned 
political  verse,  enriched  with  a  series  of  vivid 
imaginative  pictures.  The  contemporary  up 
holder  of  the  old  order  would  have  dismissed 
it  as  romantic  exaggeration.  Both  judgments 
recognize  that  the  root  of  the  passionate  sym 
pathy  which  it  expresses  lay  in  the  imagina 
tion,  and  that  therein  consists  the  reason  for 
calling  it  romantic  verse. 

Wordsworth's  face,  during  the  period  of  his 
sympathy  with  the  Revolution,  was  turned  to 
the  future  with  its  promise  rather  than  to  the 
past  with  its  wrongs.  One  has  only  to  recall 
the  famous  outburst  that  has  become  the  ac 
cepted  expression  of  the  mood  of  the  noblest 
spirits  of  that  time : 

Oh !  pleasant  exercise  of  hope  and  joy  ! 

For  mighty  were  the  auxiliars  which  then  stood 

Upon  our  side,  we  who  were  strong  in  love  ! 

Bliss  was  it  in  that  dawn  to  be  alive, 

But  to  be  young  was  very  heaven  !  — Oh  !  times, 

In  which  the  meagre,  stale,  forbidding  ways 


78  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Of  custom,  law,  and  statute,  took  at  once 
The  attraction  of  a  country  in  romance  ! 

It  is,  however,  important  to  remember  that 
not  all  the  literature  of  "  Liberty,  Fraternity, 
Equality,"  even  when  impassioned,  is  to  be 
called  romantic.  This  becomes  clear  if  we  con 
sider  still  another  democratic  utterance  of  the 
period,  one  that  has  reached  the  masses  of  the 
people,  at  least  in  the  poet's  own  country,  as 
those  more  literary  expressions  of  Wordsworth 
and  Coleridge  never  could, —  Burns's  A  Man's 
a  Man  for  a9  that.  Coleridge's  lines  were,  we 
saw,  a  series  of  imaginatively  wrought  pic 
tures,  rousing  indignation  and  pity;  Words-* 
worth's  were  a  rendering  of  a  state  of  emo 
tional  exaltation  caused  by  an  imaginative  s 
vision  of  the  possibilities  of  making  the  world 
over  on  ideal  lines:  where  is  the  imaginative 
element  in  these  verses  of  Burns?  The  warp 
is  fact,  the  woof  is  reason ;  what  little  imagina 
tion  enters  is  in  the  suggestive  value  of  the 
concrete  terms  employed —  hodden-gray,  silks, 
wine,  riband,  star,  and  the  like —  and  in  the 
somewhat  vague  general  prophecy  of  the  com 
ing  of  universal  brotherhood.  But  the  imagin 
ation  is  subordinate.  It  is  a  splendid  piece  of 
political  rhetoric,  sincerely  felt  and  vigorously 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         79 

expressed,  but  in  it  there  is  no  romance.  The        i 
democracy  of  an  aristocrat  or  an  artist  is  likely 
to  be  romantic :  the  democracy  of  a  peasant  is 
only  common  sense. 

Closely  allied  to  the  democracy  of  the  Revo 
lution,  yet  exhibited  in  a  totally  different  group 
of  poems,  is  the  new  sense  of  the  worthiness 
of  humble  life  as  the  theme  of  poetry.  The 
poetry  of  the  common  people,  especially  as  re 
presented  in  the  work  of  Crabbe,  Burns,  and 
Wordsworth,  is  habitually  classed  as  belong 
ing  to  the  Romantic  Movement;  mainly,  it 
would  seem,  because  the  subjects  of  the  poetry 
of  the  preceding  age  were  chiefly  from  the 
world  of  polite  society.  But  we  have  already 
seen  several  times  that  this  negative  reason  is 
insufficient.  Nothing  much  less  romantic  than 
the  poetry  of  Crabbe  could  well  be  found  in 
verse ;  the  positive  quality  of  his  work,  and  of 
the  pictures  of  peasant  life  by  Burns,  will  be 
treated  in  a  subsequent  chapter.  Wordsworth's 
poems  of  humble  life,  however,  present  a  more 
complex  problem,  and  demand  some  examina 
tion  while  we  are  still  dealing  with  the  pre 
dominance  of  imagination.  He  himself  states 
in  his  famous  Preface  that  his  object  was  "to 
choose  incidents  and  situations  from  common 


80  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

life,  .  .  .  and  to  throw  over  them  a  certain  col 
ouring  of  imagination,  whereby  ordinary  things 
should  be  presented  to  the  mind  in  an  unusual 
aspect;  and  further,  and  above  all,  to  make 
these  incidents  and  situations  interesting  by 
tracing  in  them,  truly  though  not  ostenta 
tiously,  the  primary  laws  of  our  nature."  * 
Coleridge  gives  corroboration.  "  Mr.  Words 
worth,"  he  says,  "  was  to  propose  to  himself 
as  his  object,  to  give  the  charm  of  novelty  to 
things  of  every  day,  and  to  excite  a  feeling 
analogous  to  the  supernatural,  by  awakening 
the  mind's  attention  from  the  lethargy  of  cus 
tom,  and  directing  it  to  the  loveliness  and  the 
wonders  of  the  world  before  us;  an  inexhaust 
ible  treasure,  but  for  which,  in  consequence 
of  the  film  of  familiarity  and  selfish  solici 
tude,  we  have  eyes,  yet  see  not,  ears  that 
hear  not,  and  hearts  that  neither  feel  nor  un 
derstand."2 

It  appears  from  these  two  statements  that 
Wordsworth's  main  aim  was  not  that  truth  to 
fact  which  characterizes  the  Realist;  nor  was 
it  to  give  support  to  a  democratic  view  of  so 
ciety.  It  was  the  legitimate  purpose  of  the  im- 

1  Wordsworth,  Preface  to  Lyrical  Ballads,  1800. 
3  Coleridge,  Biographia  Literaria,  1817,  ofaap.  xiv. 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         81 

aginative  artist ;  and  this  purpose  is  admirably 
expressed  in  the  phrases  employed :  the  viewing 
of  phenomena  in  the  light  of  imagination,  and 
tracing  in  them  the  primary  laws  of  human 
nature ;  breaking  the  film  of  familiarity,  and 
displaying  the  loveliness  and  wonder  of  the 
world.  With  such  a  program,  the  surprise  is 
not  that  the  poems  of  humble  life  are  to  such 
an  extent  imaginative  and  romantic,  but  that 
they  are  not  more  consistently  so. 

That  this  program  was  in  part  carried  out, 
and  that  some  of  these  poems  of  humble  life 
possess  so  great  an  imaginative  element  as  to 
be  justly  called  romantic,  must  be  conceded. 
Such  a  one  is  The  Reverie  of  Poor  Susan, 
the  romantic  quality  of  which  appears  the  mo 
ment  we  think  of  Grabbers  method  of  treating 
such  a  subject.  But  the  supreme  instance  is 
the  masterpiece  of  The  Solitary  Reaper,  which 
can  never  be  too  often  quoted : 

Behold  her,  single  in  the  field, 
Yon  solitary  Highland  Lass  ! 
Reaping  and  singing  by  herself ; 
Stop  here,  or  gently  pass  ! 
Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain, 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain  ; 
O  listen  !  for  the  Vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound. 


ft  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

No  Nightingale  did  ever  chaunt 
More  welcome  notes  to  weary  bands 
Of  travellers  in  some  shady  haunt, 
Among  Arabian  sands  : 
A  voice  so  thrilling  ne'er  was  heard 
In  spring-time  from  the  Cuckoo-bird, 
Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas 
Among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 

Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings  ?  — 
Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 
For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things, 
And  battles  long  ago  : 
Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 
Familiar  matter  of  to-day  ? 
Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain, 
That  has  been,  and  may  be  again  ? 

Whate'er  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending ; 
I  saw  her  singing  at  her  work, 
And  o'er  the  sickle  bending  ;  — 
I  listened,  motionless  and  still ; 
And,  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill, 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore, 
Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

Here  is  the  simplest  and  most  commonplace 
of  rustic  scenes  taken  up  with  an  intensity  of 
imagination  that  transfigures  it.  With  an  un 
paralleled  felicity  of  expression,  and  an  extraor 
dinary  fertility  of  suggestion,  Wordsworth 
conveys  to  his  reader  a  fragment  of  experience 
rendered  with  such  fineness  and  poignancy  as 


IMAGINATION  AND   ROMANTICISM         83 

to  lodge  it  permanently  in  the  recesses  of  the 
spirit.  In  this  poem  Wordsworth  shows  in  prac 
tice,  what  he  had  suggested  in  the  theoretical 
statements  of  his  Preface,  that  in  the  scenes 
and  events  of  humble  life  imagination  may 
find  a  peculiar  opportunity ;  because  in  them 
it  may  reach,  with  a  directness  impossible  in 
the  treatment  of  sophisticated  themes,  those 
simple  elemental  motives  and  ideas  to  bring 
us  into  vivid  relation  with  which  is,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  loftiest  achievement  of  that 
faculty. 

But  it  cannot  be  contended  that  always,  or 
even  usually,  Wordsworth's  treatment  of  such 
incidents  had  a  result  approaching  this.  Many 
of  them  hardly  succeed  from  any  point  of 
view;  others,  such,  for  example,  as  Michael, 
while  of  great  beauty,  are  not  predominatingly 
imaginative,  and  cannot  properly  be  classed  as 
romantic.1  On  the  whole,  it  must  be  concluded 
that  the  importance  of  the  extending  of  the 
field  of  poetry  to  include  a  larger  proportion 
of  humble  and  rustic  themes  has,  if  regarded 
as  a  phase  of  Romanticism,  been  greatly  ex 
aggerated. 

To  a  much  greater  extent  is  the  return  to 

1  Compare,  on  this  point,  pp.  151-154,  below. 


84  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

nature  which  is  implied  in  Rousseau's  admiring 
picture  of  a  supposed  Golden  Age,  the  worship 
of  the  ideal  savage,  the  primitive  man  living 
in  unconscious  harmony  with  the  universe,  to 
be  regarded  as  essentially  romantic.  Though 
persisting  through  the  next  generation  in  the 
poetry  of  Byron,  and  discernible  still  later  in 
the  idealizing  of  the  noble  red  man  of  the 
forests  and  prairies  of  North  America,  it  was 
attacked  and  exposed  not  only  by  the  satirists 
of  the  Anti-Jacobin,  but  by  such  radicals  as 
Mary  Wollstonecraft  and  her  husband,  Wil 
liam  Godwin.  An  imaginative  element  it  cer 
tainly  had ;  and  this  vision  of  primitive  savage 
society  was  romantic  in  the  sense  that  it  was 
unreal.  But  its  actual  quality  can  be  perceived 
in  such  an  attempt  to  realize  it  as  one  finds  in 
Byron,  and  in  him  best,  perhaps,  in  The  Island. 
In  this  poem  both  human  and  external  nature 
among  tropical  savages  are  held  up  as  exhibit 
ing  a  condition  far  superior  to  civilization. 
Here  is  the  ideal  human  nature : 

There  sat  the  gentle  savage  of  the  wild, 

In  growth  a  woman,  though  in  years  a  child, 

As  childhood  dates  within  our  colder  clime, 

Where  nought  is  ripenM  rapidly  save  crime  ; 

The  infant  of  an  infant  world,  as  pure 

From  nature  —  lovely,  warm,  and  premature ; 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         85 

Dusky  like  night,  but  night  with  all  her  stars, 
Or  cavern  sparkling  with  its  native  spars ; 
With  eyes  that  were  a  language  and  a  spell, 
A  form  like  Aphrodite's  in  her  shell, 
With  all  her  loves  around  her  on  the  deep, 
Voluptuous  as  the  first  approach  of  sleep  ; 
Yet  full  of  life  —  for  through  her  tropic  cheek 
The  blush  would  make  its  way,  and  all  but  speak : 
The  sun-born  blood  suffused  her  neck,  and  threw 
O'er  her  clear  nut-brown  skin  a  lucid  hue, 
Like  coral  reddening  through  the  darken'd  wave, 
Which  draws  the  diver  to  the  crimson  cave. 
Such  was  this  daughter  of  the  southern  seas.  .  .  . 

(Canto  n,  st.  vii.) 

The  physical  surroundings  of  this  goddess 
of  the  southern  seas  are  entirely  appropriate : 

The  cava  feast,  the  yam,  the  cocoa's  root, 
Which  bears  at  once  the  cup,  and  milk,  and  fruit; 
The  bread-tree,  which,  without  the  ploughshare,  yields 
The  unreap'd  harvest  of  unfurrow'd  fields, 
And  bakes  its  unadulterated  loaves 
Without  a  furnace  in  unpurchased  groves, 
And  flings  off  famine  from  its  fertile  breast, 
A  priceless  market  for  the  gathering  guest. 

(Canto  n,  st.  xi.) 

It  is  to  be  admitted  at  once  that  the  vision 
of  life  here  held  up  has  in  it  a  suspiciously  large 
material  element.  But  no  one  is  likely  to  re 
fuse  it  the  name  romantic,  or  to  deny  that  it 
is  a  conception  formed  chiefly  by  the  imagina 
tion,  even  though  its  imagination  is  used  to 
throw  a  halo  round  sheer  voluptuousness.  The 


86  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

vividness  of  sensuous  suggestion  is  nothing 
against  its  romantic  quality :  the  limitations 
which  prevent  its  reaching  the  level  of  great 
literature  are  to  be  found  in  its  disregard  of 
so  many  of  the  facts  of  human  nature,  and 
in  its  paucity  of  reflection.  For  it  is  clear  that 
a  little  rational  consideration  would  have 
shown  Byron  that  an  environment  so  barren 
of  the  higher  intellectual  and  spiritual  stimuli 
would  have  bored  him  in  a  week.  One  cannot 
imagine  this  spoiled  child  of  civilization,  this 
connoisseur  in  sophisticated  pleasure,  finding 
any  prolonged  satisfaction  in  an  existence  whose 
content  is  typified  by  the  picture  of  a  naive 
pair,  as  free  from  subtlety  as  from  clothing, 
strolling  by  a  tepid  beach  under  a  tropical  sun 
set,  eating  unsyndicated  bananas.  As  literature 
it  is  second-rate,  because  it  is  unconvincing ; 
and  it  is  unconvincing  because  it  is  not  thought 
out,  and  because  the  materials  with  which  his 
imagination  is  dealing  are  so  meagre,  appeal 
to  such  a  low  range  of  emotions,  and  do  nothing 
to  raise  it  to  a  point  from  which  large  views 
are  possible.  Yet  the  poem  is,  of  its  kind,  un 
doubtedly  imaginative,  as  is  the  whole  con 
ception  of  primitive  society  which  Byron  de 
rived  from  Rousseau.  The  social  theory  based 


IMAGINATION   AND   ROMANTICISM         87 

upon  this  conception  was  long  ago  demolished, 
nor  are  we  here  concerned  with  its  historical  or 
rational  validity.  It  is  only  important  for  us  to 
recognize  it  as  a  prominent  element  in  the  intel 
lectual  life  of  the  time,  and  to  see  that  it  is 
by  virtue  of  the  predominating  element  of  im 
agination  in  it  that  it  became  a  notable  factor 
in  the  Romantic  revival. 

IV 

The  sense  of  the  phrase,  the  "  Return  to  Na 
ture,"  which  comes  to  our  mind  when  we  use 
it  in  connection  with  the  Romantic  Movement 
in  England,  is  less  any  of  the  interpretations 
so  far  discussed,  than  the  increased  prominence 
in  the  poetry  of  the  time  of  scenery,  in  the 
largest  use  of  the  word.  External  nature,  es- 

O  ' 

pecially  remote  and  untouched  by  the  hand  of 
man,  undoubtedly  begins  to  play  a  much  larger 
part  in  the  verse  of  the  end  of  the  eighteenth 
century  than  it  had  perhaps  ever  done  before ; 
and  again  this  phenomenon,  appearing  about 
the  same  time  as  others  which  have  been  in 
discriminately  grouped  together  as  romantic, 
has  been  labelled  with  the  same  name.  But  if 
the  word  is  to  mean  anything  specific,  a  more 
discerning  examination  of  the  manifestations 


88  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

of  this  tendency  also  is  necessary.  The  land 
scapes  of  Thomson  and  Cowper  and  Crabbe, 
the  moralizings  over  the  daisy  by  Burns,  the 
pictures  of  the  Lake  Country  by  Wordsworth 
as  well  as  his  minuter  studies  of  flowers,  the 
"  inventories  of  Nature's  beauties  "  which  that 
poet  so  deprecated  in  Scott,  the  eloquent  de- 
lineation  of  lake  and  mountain  and  ocean  by 
Byron,  the  opalescent  creations  of  light  and 
cloud  which  glorify  the  poetry  of  Shelley,  the 
intimate  delight  afforded  by  natural  sights  and 
sounds  to  the  senses  of  Keats,  —  all  these  have 
been  taken  as  equally  exemplifying  romantic 
tendencies.  Yet  there  is  little  common  to  them 
all ;  and  nothing,  if  we  take  them  without  dis 
crimination,  which  unites  all  of  them  with  such 
phases  of  Romanticism  as  Medievalism  and 
Subjectivity. 

It  is  clear,  at  the  outset,  that  the  degree  of 
imagination  involved  in  these  different  methods 
of  treating  natural  scenery  is  very  variable. 
All  of  them  depart  from  the  conventional 
landscape  of  the  school  of  Pope,  some  in  choice 
of  subject,  some  in  manner  of  treatment,  most, 
perhaps,  in  both.  But  we  are  now  on  our  guard 
against  assuming  that  everything  showing  a  re 
action  against  neo-classicism  must  be  romantic ; 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         89 

and  nowhere  can  we  find  a  clearer  instance  of 
this  than  in  this  matter  of  the  treatment  of 
external  nature.  For  the  elaborate  descriptions 
of  Scottish  scenery  in  Thomson's  Seasons, 
the  pictures  of  the  midlands  of  England  in 
Cowper's  Task,  or  of  the  wastes  of  the  Eastern 
counties  in  Crabbe's  Village,  are  obviously  not 
able,  not  for  their  imaginativeness,  but  for 
their  literal  truth.  The  discussion  of  them  in 
detail,  then,  belongs  to  the  chapter  that  deals 
with  Realism  and  the  Sense  of  Fact.  At  present 
we  are  seeking  for  evidences  of  the  predom 
inance  of  the  imagination. 

A  suggestion  that  may  be  of  service  in  this 
search  is  to  be  found  if  we  consider  types  of 
scenery,  for  some  kinds  of  landscape  are  much 
more  apt  than  others  to  stimulate  the  imagin 
ative  faculty.  The  vaster  and  more  awe-inspir 
ing  objects  in  the  natural  world,  mountains, 
great  deserts,  the  ocean,  the  clouds,  have  this 
effect,  and  have  it  more  powerfully  at  special 
times  :  in  storm  rather  than  in  calm ;  at  night 
rather  than  in  the  plain  light  of  day.  The 
more  remote  and  inaccessible  these  appear,  the 
wilder  and  more  rugged,  the  farther  from  the 
familiar,  the  more  likely  are  they  to  rouse  the 
sense  of  wonder  and  mystery,  and  to  impel 


90  ESSENTIALS   OF  POETRY 

the  mind  to  regions  of  imaginative  speculation 
far  removed  from  the  explicable  facts  of  daily 
experience.  As  we  have  already  noted  in  our 
discussion  of  the  manifestations  of  the  imagin 
ation,  it  is  especially  in  the  presence  of  these 
awful  and  sublime  aspects  of  nature  that  the 
imagination  most  readily  rouses  us  to  those  ec 
static  experiences  in  which  the  soul  rises  above 
the  particular  and  transitory,  into  the  sphere  of 
the  universal  and  eternal. 

This  sense  of  wonder  has  long  been  recog 
nized  as  an  important  element  in  romantic  art^ 
and  has  been  so  much  emphasized  by  one  noted 
critic  that  he  has  defined  the  Romantic  Move 
ment  as  a  whole  as  "  the  Renascence  of  Won 
der."  Wonder  as  a  source  of  imaginative  activity 
might  have  been  noted  also  in  our  discussion 
of  the  romantic  element  in  the  medieval  revival. 
Mr.  Watts-Dunton's  phrase  is,  indeed,  admir 
able  £s  far  as  it  goes  :  the  objection  to  it  being 
simply  that  it  does  not  go  far  enough ;  that, 
wonder  being  only  one  aspect  of  imaginative 
activity,  the  definition  is  not  comprehensive 
enough,  and  fails  to  include  other  aspects 
which  are  equally  productive  of  romantic  ef 
fects.  A  similar  criticism  must  be  made  of 
Pater's  suggestive  phrase  for  Romanticism, — 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         91 

"the  addition  of  strangeness  to  beauty";  for 
strangeness  is  only  the  cause  of  which  wonder  is 
the  effect,  and  the  view  of  imaginative  activity 
implied  in  it  is  subject  to  the  same  limitations. 
Landscapes  inspiring  emotions  of  wonder, 
strangeness,  terror,  awe,  and  the  like,  are  com 
mon  in  nearly  all  of  the  poets  regarded  as 
distinctively  romantic.  We  have  noted  an  ex 
ample  already  in  the  wildly  imagined  Orient 
alism  of  Coleridge's  Kubla  Khan;  and  others 
occur  to  us  at  once  from  the  haunted  wood 
lands  of  Christabel,  or  the  frightful  tropic 
ocean  of  The  Ancient  Mariner.  The  fame  of 
Byron  owes  much  to  those  eloquent  apostro 
phes  to  the  awe-inspiring  aspects  of  nature, 
which,  hackneyed  though  they  be,  can  still 
stir  the  pulse : 

The  stars  are  forth,  the  moon  above  the  tops 
Of  the  snow-shining  mountains.  —  Beautiful  I 
I  linger  yet  with  Nature,  for  the  Night 
Hath  been  to  me  a  more  familiar  face 
Than  that  of  man  ;  and  in  her  starry  shade 
Of  dim  and  solitary  loveliness, 
I  learn'd  the  language  of  another  world. 

(Manfred,  in,  iv,  1.) 

Less  delicate  in  its  imaginative  suggestion 
than  the  work  of  Coleridge,  less  lofty  in  its 
spiritual  appeal  than  that  of  Wordsworth, 


92  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

hampered  by  a  tendency  to  the  use  of  the 
sensational,  Byron's  landscape  has  yet  genuine 
imaginative  elements  which  teach  "the  lan 
guage  of  another  world."  More  ethereal  by  far, 
and  all  but  lifted  at  times  by  the  very  violence 
of  imagination  out  of  all  kinship  to  the  world 
of  everyday  experience,  the  landscapes  of 
Shelley  are,  in  our  present  sense,  the  most 
romantic  of  all: 

Mont  Blanc  yet  gleams  on  high  :  —  the  power  is  there, 

The  still  and  solemn  power  of  many  sights, 

And  many  sounds,  and  much  of  life  and  death. 

In  the  calm  darkness  of  the  moonless  nights, 

In  the  lone  glare  of  day,  the  snows  descend 

Upon  that  Mountain  ;  none  beholds  them  there, 

Nor  when  the  flakes  burn  in  the  sinking  sun, 

Or  the  star-beams  dart  through  them  :  —  Winds  contend 

Silently  there,  and  heap  the  snow  with  breath 

Rapid  and  strong,  but  silently  !  Its  home 

The  voiceless  lightning  in  these  solitudes 

Keeps  innocently,  and  like  vapor  broods 

Over  the  snow.  The  secret  Strength  of  things 

Which  governs  thought,  and  to  the  infinite  dome 

Of  Heaven  is  as  a  law,  inhabits  thee  ! 

And  what  were  thou,  and  earth,  and  stars,  and  sea, 

If  to  the  human  mind's  imaginings 

Silence  and  solitude  were  vacancy  ? 

(Mont  Blanc,  st.  V.) 

But  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  argue  or  to 
illustrate  further  the  presence  of  a  dominating 
imagination  in  these  renderings  of  the  strange 


IMAGINATION  AND  ROMANTICISM         93 

and  terrible  and  remote  aspects  of  nature.  No 
other  feature  of  the  poetry  of  this  period  is  so 
generally  recognized  as  romantic ;  and  the  ap 
plication  of  our  theory  at  this  point  is  not 
likely  to  be  disputed.  It  should  be  noted,  how 
ever,  that,  though  the  treatment  of  wild  land 
scape  by  all  these  poets  may  be  thus  grouped 
together  by  virtue  of  a  powerful  imaginative 
element  in  all,  this  element  manifests  itself 
in  a  great  variety  of  ways.  Such  descriptions 
in  Scott,  and  often  in  Coleridge,  are  imper 
sonal;  and  so  far  as  they  are  given  human  rela 
tions,  these  are  connected  with  persons  in  a 
tale.  The  terror  of  the  equatorial  seas  in  The 
Ancient  Mariner  is  represented  in  its  effect, 
not  on  the  poet,  but  on  the  mariner ;  the  mys 
terious  shades  of  the  Trosachs  are  connected 
by  Scott,  not  with  his  own  feelings,  but  with 
the  apprehensions  of  his  lost  hero.  In  Byron, 
on  the  other  hand,  such  aspects  of  nature  are 
constantly  introduced  as  the  objects  of  con 
templation  of  a  soul  alienated  and  harassed  by 
unsympathetic  contact  with  society;  and  this 
soul  is  usually  Byron's  own.  At  other  times 
they  gain  interest  for  him  from  their  associa 
tion  with  great  men  of  the  past,  and  the  men 
tion  of  such  names  broaches  other  streams  of 


94  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

suggestion.  To  Shelley,  as  the  passage  just 
quoted  illustrates,  the  grander  features  of  the 
natural  world  are  fraught  with  a  large  meta 
physical  significance,  in  the  tracing  of  which 
he  is  apt  to  lose  sight  of  the  perceived  facts 
altogether.  Wordsworth,  with  a  firmer  grasp 
on  external  reality,  is  hardly,  if  at  all,  less 
stimulated  to  an  imaginative  philosophizing  by 
nature's  solitudes,  and  he  never  tires  of  describ 
ing  the  action  and  reaction  between  nature  and 
spirit. 

The  mention  of  Wordsworth  reminds  us 
that  the  imaginative  or  romantic  treatment  of 
nature  is  not  confined  to  the  larger  and  more 
awe-inspiring  aspects,  but  appears  also  in  the 
study  of  detail.  An  illustration  may  be  found 
in  the  lines  of  Wordsworth  to  a  daisy,  quoted 
in  a  previous  chapter;  and  it  is  abundantly 
exemplified  in  the  descriptive  poetry  of  Keats. 
The  realistic  side  of  this  part  of  Keats' s  work 
will  be  discussed  later;  for  the  moment  we 
may  look  for  the  imaginative  element  in  it. 
Take  one  or  two  characteristic  passages : 

I  stood  tip-toe  upon  a  little  hill, 

The  air  was  cooling,  and  so  very  still, 

That  the  sweet  buds  which  with  a  modest  pride 

Pull  droopingly,  in  slanting  curve  aside, 


IMAGINATION  AND   ROMANTICISM         95 

Their  scantly  leav'd,  and  finely  tapering  stems, 
Had  not  yet  lost  those  starry  diadems 
Caught  from  the  early  sobbing  of  the  morn  : 


Here  are  sweet  peas,  on  tip-toe  for  a  flight : 
With  wings  of  gentle  flush  o'er  delicate  white, 
And  taper  fingers  catching  at  all  things, 
To  bind  them  all  about  with  tiny  rings. 

(Poems,  1817,  p.  1.) 

Or  a  somewhat  similar  passage  from  Coleridge : 

Therefore  all  seasons  shall  be  sweet  to  thee, 

Whether  the  summer  clothe  the  general  earth 

With  greenness,  or  the  redbreast  sit  and  sing 

Betwixt  the  tufts  of  snow  on  the  bare  branch 

Of  mossy  apple  tree,  while  the  nigh  thatch 

Smokes  in  the  sun-thaw  ;  whether  the  eave-drops  fall 

Heard  only  in  the  trances  of  the  blast, 

Or  if  the  secret  ministry  of  frost 

Shall  hang  them  up  in  silent  icicles, 

Quietly  shining  to  the  quiet  Moon. 

(Frost  at  Midnight,  65-74.) 

It  is  true  that  part  of  the  pleasure  derived 
from  these  passages  is  due  to  the  exquisite 
precision  with  which  fair  natural  objects  are 
delineated;  but  in  all  there  is  a  persistent  tend 
ency  to  depart  from  sheer  literalism,  and  to 
intensify  the  interest  in  the  sensuous  by  sug 
gestions  of  the  supersensuous,  or  by  charming 
and  unexpected  comparisons  with  other  sen 
suous  images.  The  poet's  imagination,  though 


96  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

dealing  with  real  objects,  is  ever  "  on  tip-toe 
for  a  flight."  This  appears  not  only  in  the 
palpable  personification  of  such  a  line  as 

Caught  from  the  early  sobbing  of  the  morn, 

but  also  in  the  description  of  the  icicles, 

Quietly  shining  to  the  quiet  Moon, 

which,  though,  taken  word  by  word,  it  seems 
to  be  perfectly  literal,  yet,  taken  as  a  line, 
touches  us  imaginatively  in  a  fashion  too  subtle 
for  analysis.  These  are  lines  exemplifying  that 
gift  allowed  to  man, 

That  out  of  three  sounds  he  frame,  not  a  fourth  sound, 
but  a  star. 

In  this  miracle  of  the  imaginative  transform 
ation  of  detailed  description,  then,  as  well  as  in 
the  treatment  of  the  vast  and  terrible,  we  may 
recognize  the  essential  quality  of  the  romantic. 

Such  are  the  main  senses  in  which  the  phrase, 
the  "Return  to  Nature"  may  be  taken,  when  it 
is  treated  as  an  aspect  of  Romanticism.  In  this 
connection,  as  we  have  seen,  it  has  been  ap 
plied  to  the  reappearance  of  a  more  spontane- 1 
ous  expression  of  personal  feeling,  to  the  Re 
volutionary  doctrine  of  the  rights  of  man,  to 
the  renewal  of  interest  in  humble  and  unso- , 


IMAGINATION  AND   ROMANTICISM         97 

phisticated  rustic  life,  to  the  aspiration  towards 
the  supposed  ideal  simplicity  of  the  primitive 
savage,  and  to  the  great  enlargement  of  nat 
ural  description  in  poetry.  In  each  of  these 
cases  we  have  seen  that  the  name  romantic 
cannot  be  applied  mechanically,  but  only  when, 
on  discriminating  examination,  we  find  that 
there  is  to  be  found  in  the  new  phase  a  pre 
dominance  of  imagination. 

The  three  phrases  which  we  selected  as  re 
presenting  the  more  familiar  attempts  to  de 
fine  Romanticism  have  now  been  discussed. 
In  each  of  them  we  have  found  an  element  of 
truth :  in  none  of  them  a  sufficient  breadth  of 
application.  Each  of  them,  moreover,  has  been 
shown  to  include  elements  to  which  we  have 
not  been  able  to  grant  a  place  in  any  coherent 
and  unified  view  of  the  essential  nature  of  the 
tendency  under  discussion.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  has,  I  believe,  been  possible  to  insist  upon 
the  applicability  of  our  conception,  the  pre 
dominance  of  imagination  over  reason  and  the 
sense  of  fact,  without  expelling  from  the  body 
of  romantic  poetry  anything  which  the  discern 
ing  critic  is  likely  to  view  as  essential  to  a 
complete  account  of  its  forms. 


98  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

There  are,  of  course,  many  other  definitions 
which  might  have  been  used  to  test  the  present 
theory,  as  there  are  many  characteristics  of  so- 
called  romantic  facts  which  it  has  not  been 
possible  to  discuss.  Especially  inadequate,  it 
may  seem,  has  been  the  application  of  our  form 
ula  to  the  facts  of  the  romantic  period  in  France 
and  Germany.  In  those  countries  the  romantic 
movement  was  much  more  conscious  than  in 
England,  more  a  matter  of  schools,  of  propa 
ganda,  of  a  faith  to  be  preached  and  practised 
for  the  regeneration  of  the  world  of  art.  The 
result  of  this  has  been  that  historians  of  the 
period,  treating  a  group  of  men  confessedly  be 
longing  to  the  movement,  have  been  tempted 
to  include  in  their  view  of  the  essential  spirit 
of  Romanticism  all  the  characteristics  of  all 
the  members.  Such  an  extreme  inclusiveness 
was  bound  to  produce  a  highly  complex,  if  not 
a  confused,  impression  of  the  dominant  tend 
ency.  By  drawing  illustrations  in  the  main 
from  the  less  coherent  English  group,  and  by 
abstaining  from  a  rigidly  historical  treatment, 
I  have  attempted  to  find  for  the  term  romantic 
a  content  which  will  explain  and  illuminate  its 
application  in  any  period  and  to  any  art.  It  is 
clear  that  even  partial  success  in  this  attempt 


IMAGINATION   AND   ROMANTICISM         99 

would  entail  the  running  counter,  in  the  case 
of  almost  every  reader,  to  some  cherished  con 
ceptions  and  uses  of  the  word  in  question,  — 
an  offence  which  is  to  be  regretted  but,  under 
the  circumstances,  is  hardly  to  be  avoided. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SEASON   AND    CLASSICISM 


"  THE  age  of  prose  and  reason,"  Matthew 
Arnold's  phrase  for  what  with  characteristic 
condescension  he  called  "  our  excellent  and  in 
dispensable  eighteenth  century,"  has  passed 
into  the  common  currency  of  the  literary  his 
tories.  One  effect  of  its  familiarity  has  been  to 
confirm  the  general  association  of  reason  with 
prose,  so  that,  at  the  outset  of  a  discussion  on 
reason  as  an  element  of  poetry,  we  find  it  in 
cumbent  on  us  to  expound  the  meaning  of  the 
term  so  as  to  make  clear  its  title  to  appear  in 
the  present  connection. 

Reason,  then,  as  a  factor  in  pure  literature, 
means  both  more  and  less  than  it  implies  when 
used  in  technical  philosophy.  It  means  less, 
because  it  does  not  include  formal  syllogistic 
argument.  Not  that  there  may  not  underlie 
the  course  of  thought,  even  in  a  romantic  lyric, 
a  perfectly  logical  structure ;  but  the  logical 
formula  is  not  (in  general)  explicitly  stated 
in  poetry,  nor  —  what  is  more  important  — • 


REASON  AND  CLASSICISM  10 


does  the  convincing  power  of  the  poem 

upon  its  appeal  to  the  logical  faculty  in  the 

reader. 

But  if,  on  the  one  hand,  we  are  to  speak  of 
reason  as  an  element  in  poetry  without  imply 
ing  formal  logic,  we  must,  on  the  other,  ex 
tend  it  far  beyond  the  logician's  use.  It  in 
cludes  the  power  of  calculating  proportions, 
of  perceiving  the  relevant  and  the  fit,  of  pre 
serving  harmony,  of  adapting  means  to  ends, 
of  ordering  and  arranging  and  selecting  detail, 
especially  with  a  view  to  emphasizing  the  type. 
In  all  of  these  processes  we  are  employing  the 
rational  judgment,  and  both  in  the  processes 
and  their  results  it  is  easy  to  distinguish  them 
from  the  imaginative  powers  on  the  one  side 
and  those  faculties  which  we  are  to  group  under 
the  sense  of  fact  on  the  other.  In  this  large 
sense,  then,  we  are  to  use  the  word  reason. 

The  results  of  these  rational  processes  just 
enumerated  may  be  fairly  summed  up  in  the 
word  "  form  "  ;  and,  as  soon  as  form  is  men 
tioned,  one  realizes  how  absolute  is  its  claim 
to  a  place  among  the  essential  elements  of 
poetry.  Just  as  romantic  critics,  concentrating 
attention  upon  the  function  of  the  imagination, 
and  finding  in  it  the  vital  characteristic  of 


102  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

poetry,  are  ap*;  to  ignore  all  else  ;  so  critics  of 
an  opposite  temperament,  believing  formless 
beauty  to  be  a  contradiction  in  terms,  empha 
size  this  element  at  the  expense  of  content, 
and  fall  into  an  equally  vicious  extreme.  How 
ever  it  may  be  with  painting  and  sculpture, 
there  is  no  question  that  cries  like  "  Art  for 
Art's  sake,"  when  applied  to  literature,  indi 
cate  merely  the  loss  of  that  balance  which  is 
as  important  in  the  criticism  as  it  is  in  the  crea 
tion  of  poetry. 

II 

/  The  predominance  of  the  rational  and  formal 
element  in  art  results,  as  has  been  pointed  out, 
in  the  tendency  known  as  Classicism.  Classi 
cism,  however,  is  unfortunately  employed  in 
almost  as  many  senses  as  Romanticism ;  and 
before  we  can  proceed  with  our  illustration  of 
that  use  of  it  which  we  have  in  mind  when  we 
call  it  the  outcome  of  the  predominance  of 
reason,  it  is  necessary  to  take  account  of  the 
more  important  of  these  senses,  and  to  see 
whether  there  is  any  common  element  running 
through  all. 

Classical,  says  Arnold,  means  belonging  to 
the  class  of  the  very  best.  This  use,  with  others 


REASON  AND   CLASSICISM  103 

closely  allied  to  it,  is  indeed  very  familiar. 
When  one  reads  that  Dickens,  ten  years  be 
fore  his  death,  had  already  become  a  classic, 
one  understands  the  statement  to  mean  that 
he  had  taken  his  place  among  those  authors 
whose  permanent  value  is  no  longer  in  question, 
and  a  knowledge  of  whose  work  is  taken  for 
granted  among  cultivated  people.  If  one  limits 
the  praise  by  calling  him  an  English  classic, 
one  assumes  a  knowledge  of  his  books  only 
among  English-speaking  people;  if  one  calls 
him  a  world  classic,  one  assumes  it  in  culti 
vated  people  over  all  the  globe.  But  in  making 
this  statement,  the  critic  certainly  did  not 
mean,  and  no  one  would  interpret  him  as 
meaning,  that  Dickens's  main  characteristic 
was  the  predominance  of  the  rational  element, 
or  a  superlative  care  for  form ;  for  wherever 
Dickens's  chief  excellence  lies,  it  is  not  in 
these  things.  A  man  may  be  classical  in  this 
sense  for  any  one  of  many  reasons  :  this  use  of 
the  term  is  an  indication  merely  of  rank  and 
vogue,  and  does  nothing  to  define  the  specific 
qualities  on  which  such  rank  and  vogue  de 
pend,  and  of  which  we  are  in  search.  This 
meaning,  then,  we  set  aside,  as  it  in  no  way 
enters  into  our  discussion. 


104  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Again,  classical  is  used  to  describe  the  art 
of  Greek  and  Roman  antiquity,  sometimes  as 
a  whole,  sometimes  with  reference  to  those 
qualities  by  virtue  of  which  it  contrasts  most 
clearly  with  medieval  or  modern  art.  In  the 
larger  application,  it  again  can  be  of  little 
service  to  us,  and  it  would  be  a  gain  for  clear 
thinking  in  general  if  we  could  substitute 
" antique/'  "Greek  antiquity,"  and  "Roman 
antiquity"  for  such  terms  as  "classical"  and 
"  the  classics"  when  they  are  used  in  a  broadly 
temporal  and  geographical  sense.  For,  on 
grounds  already  stated,  we  are  not  to  expect 
the  art  of  two  very  different  peoples,  produced 
over  a  period  of  a  thousand  years,  to  exhibit 
persistently  the  preponderance  of  any  one  of  a 
group  of  elements  all  of  which  are  fundamen 
tal  in  human  nature.  The  facts,  too,  bear  out 
this  expectation.  One  finds  in  abundance  in 
the  art  of  Greece  and  Rome  products  in  which 
the  element  of  imagination  is  not  only  pro 
minent  but  prevailing.  The  Odyssey,  as  con 
trasted  with  the  Iliad,  and  still  more  with  the 
^Eneid,  is  distinctly  a  romantic  tale,  suffused 
with  an  atmosphere  of  wonder,  with  the  ra 
tional  and  the  realistic  elements  throughout 

o 

subordinate  to  the  imaginative.  One  has  only 


REASON  AND  CLASSICISM  105 

to  recall  for  a  moment  the  nature  of  the  ad 
ventures  of  Ulysses,  to  call  up  the  images  of 
Circe  and  Calypso,  of  Polyphemus  and  the  Cy 
clops,  of  Nausicaa,  of  Scylla  and  Charybdis, 
of  the  great  scene  of  the  slaying  of  the  suitors 
at  the  close,  to  realize  that  the  poem  is  as  truly 
a  romance  of  adventure  as  Gawain  and  the 
Green  Knight,  or  Treasure  Island.  Again, 
Euripides, 

Our  Euripides,  the  human, 

With  his  droppings  of  warm  tears, 

And  his  touches  of  things  common 
Till  they  rose  to  touch  the  spheres, 

with  his  interest  in  the  individual  and  his 
inner  life,  with  his  humanization  of  the  Gods, 
with  the  permeation  of  his  own  personality 
through  his  whole  treatment  of  Greek  legend, 
is  admittedly,  in  contrast  with  Sophocles,  for 
instance,  romantic  and  sentimental,  sometimes 
even  realistic.  Plato,  in  spite  of  the  parade 
of  logical  processes  in  his  dialogues,  both  as 
a  critic  in  his  theory  of  inspiration,  and  as  a 
constructive  philosopher  in  his  idealism  is 
clearly  of  an  imaginative  rather  than  of  a  purely 
rational  type,  as  appears  the  moment  one  con 
trasts  him  with  Aristotle.  The  satirists,  on  the 
other  hand,  have  a  strong  realistic  strain. 


106  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Further  examples  could  be  cited;  but  these 
are  enough  to  bring  before  us  clearly  the  im 
possibility  of  assuming  in  all  the  artists  of 
Greek  and  Roman  antiquity  even  an  approxi 
mately  uniform  proportioning  of  our  funda 
mental  elements,  and  the  impossibility  of  gain 
ing  from  their  work  in  the  mass  any  substantial 
help  towards  a  clear  conception  of  "  classical/' 
as  the  mark  of  a  tendency  as  distinct  from  a 
period. 

Ill 

But  if  we  turn  to  the  second  alternative, 
and  give  our  attention  to  the  qualities  which 
we  have  in  mind  when  we  contrast  the  antique 
with  the  medieval  or  the  modern,  we  are  more 
likely  to  be  rewarded.  This  contrast  appears 
perhaps  most  distinctly,  not  in  literature,  but 
in  the  arts  of  sculpture  and  architecture. 
When  we  think  of  the  difference  between  the 
Parthenon  and  the  Cathedral  of  Chartres,  we 
are  at  once  aware  of  clearly  opposed  tendencies. 
In  the  one  we  find  exquisite  proportion  and 
clearly  marked  symmetry,  a  strict  avoidance 
of  everything  unnecessary  and  irrelevant,  re 
sulting  in  a  chaste  simplicity,  a  fine  adjust 
ment  of  means  to  ends,  a  marked  unity  of 


REASON  AND  CLASSICISM  107 

conception  due  largely  to  a  parsimony  of  de 
tail.  In  the  other,  proportion  and  symmetry 
are  less  satisfying;  much  that  is  irrelevant, 
from  a  rational  point  of  view,  is  piled  on  in 
the  effort  to  obtain  richness  rather  than  sim 
plicity  ;  and  unity  is  not  so  much  realized  as 
suggested  by  a  multitude  of  details,  that,  in 
their  combined  effect,  do  succeed  in  rousing 
a  powerful  if  often  vague  emotion.  The  onel  •***£/. 
satisfies  through  a  sense  of  perfect  achieve 
ment;  the  other  inspires  through  a  sense  of 
infinite  striving.  The  one  expresses  a  tem-j 
perament  fundamentally  rational,  refusing  to 
attempt  the  impossible,  setting  before  it  a 
clearly  defined  aim,  and,  by  virtue  of  an  ad 
mirable  power  of  fitting  means  to  ends,  achiev 
ing  that  aim.  The  other  expresses  a  tempera 
ment  fundamentally  imaginative,  enamoured 
of  mystery,  ever  striving  to  grasp  the  infinite, 
and,  by  virtue  of  the  intensity  of  its  vision, 
drawing  others  to  share  its  aspiration,  but  fail 
ing  of  perfect  expression.  The  one  satisfies 
with  a  sense  of  repose;  the  other  stirs  an  in 
satiable  yearning.  The  one  is  classical;  the 
other  romantic. 

This  conception  of  classicism  can  be   still 
farther  defined  by  contrast  with  realism.  Com- 


108  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

pare,  for  example,  two  descriptions  of  persons, 
each  fairly  representative  of  its  kind.  In  the 
first  book  of  the  ^Eneid,  Virgil  introduces 
Dido  in  the  following  terms : 

While  on  such  spectacle  ^Eneas'  eyes 

Looked  wondering,  while  mute  and  motionless 

He  stood  at  gaze,  Queen  Dido  to  the  shrine 

In  lovely  majesty  drew  near  ;  a  throng 

Of  youthful  followers  pressed  round  her  way. 

So  by  the  margin  of  Eurotas  wide 

Or  o'er  the  Cynthian  steep,  Diana  leads 

Her  bright  processional  ;  hither  and  yon 

Are  visionary  legions  numberless 

Of  Oreads  ;  the  regnant  goddess  bears 

A  quiver  on  her  shoulders,  and  is  seen 

Emerging  tallest  of  her  beauteous  train  ; 

While  joy  unutterable  thrills  the  breast 

Of  fond  Latona  :  Dido  not  less  fair 

Amid  her  subjects  passed,  and  not  less  bright 

Her  glow  of  gracious  joy,  while  she  approved 

Her  future  kingdom's  pc^np  and  vast  emprise. 

Then  at  the  sacred  portal  "and  beneath 

The  temple's  vaulted  dome  she  took  her  place, 

Encompassed  by  armed  men,  and  lifted  high 

Upon  a  throne  ;  her  statutes  and  decrees 

The  people  heard,  and  took  what  lot  or  toil 

Her  sentence,  or  impartial  urn,  assigned.1 

The  classical  quality  of  this  description  ap« 
pears  both  in  the  aim  and  in  the  method.  The 
poet  is  seeking  to  present,  not  a  portrait,  but 
a  type;  to  convey  a  general,  not  a  particular; 

id,  I,  494-519  ;  trans.  Williams. 


REASON  AND  CLASSICISM  109 

impression  of  beauty  and  majesty,  and  so  is 
concerned  with  large  outlines,  definite  enough 
to  place  the  figure  in  its  class,  rather  than  with 
specific  details  which  might  serve  to  identify 
an  individual.  The  method  by  which  this  is 
accomplished  is  seen  in  the  use  of  general 
terms,  "  forma  pulcherrima,"  "  supereminet," 
"  laeta  "  (made,  unfortunately,  more  specific 
and  elaborate  in  the  translation),  by  the  single 
ness  of  the  action  described,  a  stately  pro 
cessional  approach,  then  the  administration 
of  justice,  as  the  queen  sits  enthroned  with 
an  appropriately  imposing  architectural  back 
ground  ;  and,  finally,  by  the  method  of  the 
epic  simile.  Here  direct  description  is  aban 
doned,  and  the  main  impression  is  produced, 
not  by  terms  that  draw  on  first-hand  sensuous 
experience,  but  by  allusion  to  another  typical 
figure,  by  the  resort  to  a  traditional  image  in 
which  the  main  conceptions  of  beauty  and 
majesty  are  conventionally  embodied  in  the 
moon  goddess,  and  which  had  already  been 
used  by  Homer  for  a  similar  purpose. 

Consider,    now,  a  personal  description  by 
Chaucer : 

A  good  wif  was  tber  of  biside  Bathe, 

But  she  was  som-del  deef,  and  that  was  scathe. 


110  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Of  clooth  makyng  she  hadde  swich  an  haunt 

She  passed  hem  of  Ypres  and  of  Gaunt. 

In  al  the  parisshe  wif  ne  was  ther  noon 

That  to  th'  offrynge  bifore  hire  sholde  goon  : 

And  if  ther  dide,  certeyn  so  wrooth  was  she, 

That  she  was  out  of  alle  charitee. 

Hir  coverchiefs  ful  fyne  wereii  of  ground, — 

I  dorste  swere  they  weyeden  ten  pound,  — 

That  on  a  Sonday  weren  upon  her  heed. 

Her  hosen  weren  of  fyn  scarlet  reed, 

Ful  streite  y-teyd,  and  shoes  ful  moyste  and  newe ; 

Boold  was  hir  face,  and  fair,  and  reed  of  hewe. 

She  was  a  worthy  worn  man  al  her  lyve  ; 

Housbondes  at  chirche  dore  she  hadde  fyve 

Withouten  oother  compaignye  in  youthe 

(But  ther  of  nedeth  not  to  speke  as  nowthe). 

And  thries  hadde  she  been  at  lerusalem ; 

She  hadde  passed  many  a  straunge  strem : 

At  Rome  she  hadde  been,  and  at  Boloigne, 

In  Galice  at  Seint  lame  and  at  Coloigne. 

She  koude  muchel  of  wandrynge  by  the  weye, 

Gat-tothed  was  she,  soothly  for  to  seye. 

Upon  an  amblere  esily  she  sat, 

Y-wympled  wel,  and  on  her  heed  an  hat 

As  brood  as  is  a  bokeler  or  a  targe  ; 

A  foot  mantel  about  hir  hipes  large, 

And  on  hire  feet  a  paire  of  spores  sharpe. 

In  felaweship  wel  koude  she  laughe  and  carpe  ; 

Of  remedies  of  love  she  knew  per  chaunce, 

For  she  koude  of  that  art  the  olde  daunce  1 

Here  both  aim  and  method  are  clearly  in 
contrast  with  those  we  have  observed  in  Virgil. 
We  have  now  to  deal  with  a  portrait,  not  with- 

1  Canterbury  Tales,  Prologue,  vv.  445-476. 


REASON  AND  CLASSICISM  111 

out  typical  qualities,  to  be  sure,  but  first  of  all 
of  an  individual,  whom  one  is  bound  to  believe 
the  poet  had  actually  seen,  whose  appearance 
he  had  minutely  observed  and  vividly  remem 
bered.  Since,  then,  he  is  not  seeking  to  place 
her  in  a  class,  the  method  of  allusion  by  the 
simile  is  not  employed :  there  is  no  gaining 
of  a  general  idea  by  a  traditional  comparison  ; 
and  in  place  of  vague  and  general  terms,  every 
thing  is  specific  and  capable  of  identification. 
The  sense  of  fact,  of  what  has  been  actually 
observed,  dominates  the  piece,  while  in  the  con 
trasted  passage  from  Virgil  the  result  we  have 
noted  is  the  effect  of  a  reasoned  selection,  the 
comparatively  few  details  being  chosen  because 
they  combine  well  into  a  picture  which  har 
monizes  with  the  epic  whole  of  which  it  forms 
a  part.  A  crowd  of  homely  familiar  details, 
such  as  give  Chaucer's  realistic  portrait  its  pe 
culiar  actuality,  would  be  hopelessly  out  of  place 
in  the  classical  narrative.  It  would  be  like  a 
flannel  patch  on  a  silk  gown.  Actuality  of 
Chaucer's  kind  was  not  Virgil's  aim,  but  rather 
a  formal  beauty  for  which  the  law  had  already 
been  given  by  tradition,  and  which  could  be 
achieved  only  by  a  conscious  restraint,  by 
severe  selection,  by  the  use  of  a  trained  judg- 


112  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

ment  in  matters  of  harmony  and  proportion  — 
in  short,  by  the  domination  of  reason. 

So  numerous  and  so  exquisite  are  the  in 
stances  of  this  kind  of  beauty  in  the  literature 
of  Greece  and  Rome,  that,  though  the  art  of 
these  countries  exhibits  a  great  variety  of 
phases  and  tendencies,  and  is  at  times  romantic 
or  realistic  as  well  as  classic,  it  is  still  the  most 
obvious  source  to  which  we  turn  when  we  want 
examples  of  the  classic  in  the  sense  in  which 
we  are  seeking  to  define  it.  We  must  recog 
nize  that  it  is  by  no  mere  accident  that  classic 
is  so  often  used  to  describe  antique  art  as  a 
whole,  however  much  we  regret  the  loss  of 
discrimination  which  this  equation  implies. 

IV 

There  is  still  a  third  connection  in  which  the 
term  Classical  is  used.  All  the  greater  Euro 
pean  literatures,  to  say  nothing  of  some  of 
the  Asiatic,  contain  sections  which  are  de 
scribed  in  the  text-books  as  the  Classical  Period. 
In  so  far  as  this  is  used  to  imply  merely  that 
in  such  a  period  the  national  literature  reached 
its  highest  point,  the  phrase  has  no  immediate 
interest  for  us;  and  this  application  of  the 


REASON   AND  CLASSICISM  113 

word  must  be  set  aside  with  that  already  dis 
posed  of,  by  which  any  undisputed  masterpiece 
is  termed  a  classic.  But  in  France,  for  example, 
the  age  of  Corneille,  Racine,  and  Moliere  is 
known  as  the  classical  period,  not  only  because 
of  the  excellence  of  the  literature  then  pro 
duced,  but  because  of  the  nature  of  that  excel 
lence;  and  the  name  is  employed  even  by  those 
who  are  hostile  to  its  whole  spirit  and  who  de 
preciate  its  achievement.  So  in  England  we 
have  a  classical  age  and  a  classical  school  of 
poetry,  which  is  not  the  age  of  the  greatest 
masters,  and  the  poetry  of  which  has  even  been 
charged  with  lacking  altogether  the  essential 
spirit  of  poetry.  What,  then,  do  we  mean  when 
we  call  Pope  the  head  of  the  classical  school 
in  England  ?  Is  the  reference  to  Greek  and 
Roman  antiquity  ?  or  is  it  to  that  essence  of 
classicism  which  we  found  characteristic,  in 
deed,  of  antiquity,  but  by  no  means  always 
present  there? 

The  answer  to  these  questions  is  that  it  is 
partly  both,  but  neither  altogether.  The  period 
conventionally  known  as  the  Eighteenth  Cen 
tury  in  English  Literature,  the  period,  that 
is,  extending  from  Waller  and  Dry  den  to  the 
death  of  Dr.  Johnson,  had,  in  fact,  quite  dis* 


114  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

cernible  relations  with  antiquity,  though  these 
relations  were  perhaps  hardly  as  close  as  the 
writers  of  that  age  supposed.  Their  criticism, 
for  example,  was  based,  as  they  believed,  upon 
the  precepts  of  Aristotle  and  Horace  and  on 
the  practice  of  Homer  and  Virgil  and  of  the 
Greek  dramatists ;  and  they  made  valiant  ef 
forts  to  carry  their  critical  principles  into  oper 
ation.  Underlying  these  efforts  were  certain 
assumptions  that  are  of  profound  importance 
in  testing  the  claims  of  this  period  to  the  name 
classical  in  any  sense.  It  was  assumed  that 
from  the  criticism  of  Aristotle,  and  from  the 
masterpieces  of  his  contemporaries,  rules  could 
be  deduced,  which,  if  followed,  would  lead  to 
the  production  of  similar  classical  masterpieces. 
And  the  chief  aid  to  the  following  of  these 
rules  was  to  be  found  in  imitation,  in  the  use, 
say,  of  Homer  as  a  model  for  the  epic  poet,  or 
of  Sophocles  for  the  dramatic  poet.  The  tra 
ditionalism  which  we  have  noted  as  already 
apparent  in  the  epic  manner  of  Virgil  is  here 
carried  to  an  extreme,  and  experience  and  the 
personal  vision  are  alike  ignored  in  the  quest 
for  the  secret  of  the  ancients.  The  nature  of 
the  rules  they  deduced  is  well  known.  The 
dramatic  unities  are  the  most  notorious.  An- 


REASON   AND  CLASSICISM  115 

-other  is  the  law  of  decorum,  which  forbade 
any  speech  or  action  out  of  character,  the  char 
acter  intended  being  not  individual  but  typ 
ical.  A  typical  gentleman,  for  example,  fought 
only  with  men  of  his  own  rank,  therefore  it 
was  laid  down  that  no  man  in  a  tragedy  could 
kill  another,  unless  the  laws  of  the  duel  per 
mitted  them  to  encounter.  Othello  is  thus 
condemned  for  murdering  Desdemona,  not 
because  his  suspicions  were  unfounded,  but 
because  decorum  forbade  a  man  to  kill  a 
woman,  since  he  was  not  allowed  to  meet  her 
on  the  field  of  honor.  Philosophy,  says  a  typ 
ical  critic  of  the  time,  tells  us  that  it  is  a  prin 
ciple  in  the  nature  of  man  to  be  grateful. 
Ingratitude  is  therefore  unnatural,  and  a  poet 
must  not  depict  the  unnatural,  however  history 
and  fact  may  present  him  with  instances  of 
it.  Therefore  an  ungrateful  character  is  a  blot 
on  a  play. 

This  last  instance  shows  us  that,  as  we  noted 
in  the  discussion  of  the  romantic  senses  of  "  na 
ture,"  the  eighteenth  century  also  claimed  to 
follow  nature.  For  this  age,  nature  is  what 
normally  happens;  and  the  rules  of  that  day 
found  a  double  sanction  —  in  nature  so  defined, 
and  in  the  practice  of  the  ancients. 


116  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Those  Rules  of  old  discovered,  not  devis'd, 
Are  Nature  still,  but  Nature  methodiz'd  ; 
Nature,  like  liberty,  is  but  restrain'd 
By  the  same  laws  which  first  herself  ordain'd.1 

Verisimilitude,  a  quality  much  insisted  on  at 
this  time,  and  in  origin  a  restricted  interpreta 
tion  of  Aristotle's  preference  for  the  probable, 
was  exalted  into  a  tyrannical  principle  which 
again  excluded  the  individual,  in  its  fear  of  the 
abnormal  or  self -contradictory,  and  reduced 
the  delineation  of  character  to  a  simplicity 
I  which  belied  human  nature.  A  king  must 
be  kingly,  and  nothing  else;  an  official  must  be 
officious,  and  nothing  else;  a  maid  must  be 
modest  and  nothing  else ;  and  so  through  the 
whole  range  of  humanity ;  until  in  the  perfec- 
%  tion  of  decorum  and  verisimilitude,  all  interest 
evaporated,  and  a  dead  monotony  reigned. 

The  mis-reading  of  Aristotle  and  of  human 
life  which  this  extreme  implies  is  not  more  sur 
prising  than  the  delusion  that  the  ancient  poets 
exemplified  these  preposterous  rules.  Pope  but 
versifies  the  view  of  the  dominant  contempor 
ary  school: 

You,  then  whose  judgment  the  right  course  would  steer, 
Know  well  each  ancient's  proper  character  ; 

1  Pope,  Essay  on  Criticism,  11.  88-91. 


REASON  AND  CLASSICISM  117 

His  fable,  subject,  scope  in  ev'ry  page  ; 

Religion,  country,  genius  of  his  age  : 

Without  all  these  at  once  before  your  eyes, 

Cavil  you  may,  but  never  criticize. 

Be  Homer's  works  your  study  and  delight, 

Read  them  by  day,  and  meditate  by  night ; 

Thence  form  your  judgment,  thence  your  maxims  bring, 

And  trace  the  Muses  upward  to  their  spring. 

Still  with  itself  compar'd,  his  text  peruse  ; 

And  let  your  comment  be  the  Mantuan  Muse. 

When  first  young  Maro  in  his  boundless  mind 
A  work  t'  outlast  immortal  Rome  desigu'd, 
Perhaps  he  seem'd  above  the  critic's  law, 
And  but  from  Nature's  fountains  scorn'd  to  draw  : 
But  when  t'  examine  ev'ry  part  he  came, 
Nature  and  Homer  were,  he  found,  the  same. 
Convinc'd,  amaz'd,  he  checks  the  bold  design ; 
And  rules  as  strict  his  labour'd  work  confine, 
As  if  the  Stagirite  o'erlook'd  each  line. 
Learn  hence  for  ancient  rules  a  just  esteem  ; 
/  To  copy  nature  is  to  copy  them.1 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  go  into  details  to 
show  how  far  astray  is  such  criticism :  how 
impossible  it  is  to  identify  the  freshness  of 
observation  and  spontaneity  of  utterance  of 
Homer,  or  the  sublime  imaginations  of  ^Es- 
chylus,  with  this  conventionalized  and  method 
ized  "  nature  "  which  Pope  finds,  or  says  he 
finds,  in  them.  Nor  are  we  to  believe  that  Pope, 
in  his  most  vital  work,  practises  his  own  pre- 

1  Essay  on  Criticism,  11. 118-140. 


\eE 

th 

ti( 


118  ESSENTIALS  OF   POETRY 

cepts.  But  we  have  said  enough  to  show  the 
relation  of  eighteenth-century  criticism  to  the 
literature  of  antiquity.  Of  course,  the  attitude 
was  not  constant  or  uniform.  Historians  of 
criticism  find  many  subdivisions  and  stages 
of  development,  the  school  of  rules,  the  school 
of  common  sense,  the  school  of  taste,  and  the 
like :  but  throughout  runs  the  prevailing  tend 
ency  to  conceive  art  as  the  product  of  rules 
that  can  be  deduced  from  the  practice  of  an- 1 
iquity  and  can  be  justified  by  reason.  The/ 
gulf  separating  such  criticism  and  creation 
founded  upon  it,  from  the  essential  and  char 
acteristic  quality  of  the  art  of  antiquity,  more 
especially  of  Greece,  has  long  been  recognized, 
and  is  acknowledged  in  the  application  to 
the  eighteenth  century  of  the  terms  neo-clas- 
sic  and  pseudo-classic,  as  distinct  from  the 
genuinely  classic,  whether  in  time  or  in  qual 
ity.1 

I1  The  distinction  between  these  two  terms  is  not  always 
clear,  and  one  is  at  times  tempted  to  conclude  that  they 
really  refer  to  the  same  tendency,  the  use  of  one  or  the  other 
being  determined  by  the  sympathy  or  antipathy  of  the  critic 
employing  it.  In  ordinary  usage,  the  difference  is  mainly  one 
of  degree;  pseudo-classic  being  employed  more  frequently 
when  the  excess  of  the  formal  element  over  everything  else 
is  so  pronounced  as  to  bring  about  an  inferiority  that  must 
be  acknowledged;  while  neo-classic  denotes  (without  judg- 


REASON  AND  CLASSICISM  119 


We  turn  now  to  the  poetry  itself  produced 
in  the  period  when  this  neo-classic  criticism 
was  prevalent,  to  inquire  what  are  its  character 
istic  qualities,  and  how  far  it  has  anything  in 
common  with  the  essentially  classic. 

The  passage  from  Pope  just  quoted  is  typi 
cal  enough  of  a  large  part  of  eighteenth-cen 
tury  verse.  Couched  in  admirably  concise  and 
pointed  diction,  and  set  to  a  metre  of  perfect 
regularity  and  marvelously  fitted  to  its  pur 
pose,  the  Essay  on  Criticism  is  literature  of 
a  quality  which  must  be  treated  with  respect. 
The  writer  has  set  before  him  the  best  models, 
and,  even  at  this  early  stage  of  his  career,  has 
mastered  the  means  appropriate  to  his  ends 
and  turned  out  a  triumph  of  technical  skill. 
Judgment,  the  power  which  in  the  view  of  the 
time  gave  structure  and  strength  to  a  poem, 

ing)  modern  works  exhibiting  classical  tendencies,  or  pro 
duced  in  modern  periods  of  marked  formalism. 

It  is  worth  noting,  perhaps,  that  our  use  of  pseudo-roman 
tic  was  not  exactly  parallel  to  this.  We  applied  that  term  to 
Gothic  novels  and  the  like,  which  pretended  to  be  highly  im 
aginative,  but  were  not;  the  pseudo-classicist  is  narrowly 
partisan,  but  is  not  necessarily  insincere.  He  is  a  classicist  at 
once  mannered  and  extreme;  a  rationalist  whose  lack  of  the 
balancing  qualities  brings  him  to  the  limits  of  art. 


120  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

is  everywhere  apparent;  and  wit,  whether 
taken  in  the  sense  of  fancy,  the  power  of 
noting  unsuspected  resemblances,  or  in  the 
modern  sense,  decorates  the  work  throughout. 
Perfection  of  form,  then,  it  has  in  a  high  de 
gree  ;  and  both  in  this  and  in  the  theoretical 
discussion  which  forms  its  content  the  strength 
of  the  rational  element  is  obvious.  But  what 
of  imagmatio"h  and  the  sense  of  fact?  It  can 
hardly  be  maintained  that  anywhere  in  it  the 
element  of  imagination  rises  above  the  level 
of  fancy.  Neat  similes  occur  here  and  there  ; 
metaphorical  expressions  and  illuminating  al 
lusions  are  frequent ;  but  of  the  larger  con 
structive  uses  of  imagination  there  is  hardly  a 
trace.  Generalization,  where  it  is  employed,  is 
logical,  not  a  matter  of  intuition ;  and  there 
is  no  vision  of  an  ideal  world.  Neither  is  the 
sense  of  fact  much  in  evidence.  The  subject- 
matter  is  largely  abstract  theory ;  and  when 
the  writer  turns  aside  to  illustrate  by  concrete 
instances,  we  get  the  impression,  not  of  a  first 
hand  reaction  from  real  men  and  books,  but 
f  the  clever  retailing  of  conventional  estim 
ates. 

Our  examination  of  this  poem,  then,  leads 
to  the  conclusion,  that  it  does  not  contain 


V 


REASON   AND  CLASSICISM  121 

that  balance  of  qualities  which  produces  the 
absolute  masterpiece ;  nor  even  that  mere  pre 
dominance  of  reason  over  imagination  and  the 
sense  of  fact  which  would  give  us  a  classical 
masterpiece ;  but  rather  that_it_exhi bits_ .that 
monopolizing  of  the  writer's  whole  energy  by 
the  one  factor  of  reason,  to  the  crushing  out 
^l_^^_^ther_ekm(Bnts^  which  has  raised  the 
question  from  his  day  to  ours  as  to  whether 
such  a  work  is  poetry  at  all.  Considered  as 
poetry,  it  is  an  excellent  instance  of  the  vi 
cious  extreme  of  the  classical  tendency ;  though 
considered  as  criticism,  it  is  an  admirably  put 
summary  of  the  doctrine  of  the  prevailing 
school. 

But  we  cannot  take  the  Essay  on  Criticism 
as  completely  representative  of  Pope  or  his 
time.  Much,  it  is  true,  of  Pope's  work  belongs 
to  the  same  class,  moral,  philosophical,  and 
political  ideas  taking  the  place  of  critical. 
But  in  The  Rape  of  the  Lock  the  imagin 
ation  is  under  no  such  eclipse,  and  the  trivial 
episode  which  suggested  it  is  lifted  by  a  com 
bination  of  whimsical  idealization  and  skillful 
following  of  the  devices  of  mock-heroic  tra 
dition  into  a  genuinely  artistic  conception. 
Further,  the  sense  of  fact  comes  to  its  own ; 


122  ESSENTIALS   OF  POETRY 

and  the  poem  is  rich  in  vivid  sketches  of  con 
temporary  manners.  There  is  still,  of  course, 
a  predominating  influence  of  the  deliberate 
care  for  form ;  neither  the  imaginative  struc 
ture,  nor  the  zeal  for  truth  of  observation 
seizes  the  author  with  such  force  as  to  get 
upon  equal  terms  with  his  judgment ;  and  the 
poem,  in  its  strength  as  well  as  in  its  limita 
tions,  is  a  classical  masterpiece  in  its  kind.  For 
an  absolute  masterpiece,  it  has  neither  suffi 
cient  balance  of  qualities  nor  sufficient  intens- 
ity. 

In  his  satirical  work,  Pope  rises  to  still 
higher  levels,  though  satire,  not  without 
grounds,  is  often  regarded  as  the  least  favor 
able  to  poetry  of  all  forms  of  verse.  The  hu 
morous  element  so  important  here  falls  to  be 
discussed  in  a  later  chapter;  but  a  partial  an 
swer  to  our  question  can  be  obtained  without 
considering  it.  In  satire  of  any  vitality  there 
is  little  likelihood  of  having  to  search  far  for 
evidence  of  the  sense  of  fact.  This  form  is 
usually  the  outcome  of  direct  experience  and 
observation  of  men  and  manners ;  and  what 
ever  heightening  and  polishing  it  may  undergo, 
the  actuality  which  is  its  basis  remains  an  im 
portant  factor.  Pope  illustrates  this  well ;  for 


REASON   AND  CLASSICISM  123 

in  the  portraits  of  friends  and  enemies  in  which 
his  satires  abound,  there  is  no  lack  of  realism. 
Let  us  examine  one  of  the  most  famous  of 
these  —  the  portrait  of  Addison  which  finally 
found  a  place  in  the  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot : 

Peace  to  all  such  !  but  were  there  One  whose  fires 
True  Genius  kindles,  and  fair  Fame  inspires  ; 
Blest  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please, 
And  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with  ease : 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the  throne ; 
View  him  with  scornful,  yet  with  jealous  eyes, 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caus'd  himself  to  rise  ; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer ; 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike, 
Just  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike  ; 
Alike  reserv'd  to  blame  or  to  commend, 
A  tim'rous  foe,  and  a  suspicious  friend ; 
Dreading  ev'n  fools,  by  Flatterers  besieg'd, 
And  so  obliging,  that  he  ne'er  oblig'd ; 
Like  Cato,  give  his  little  Senate  laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause  ; 
While  Wits  and  Templars  ev'ry  sentence  raise, 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise  :  — 
Who  but  must  laugh,  if  such  a  man  there  be  ? 
Who  would  not  weep,  if  Atticus  were  he  ? 

(vv.  193-214.) 

The  element  of  fact  here  need  not  be 
pointed  out.  The  element  of  imagination  is 
present  not  merely  in  the  heightening  of  the 
tones  of  the  portrait,  but  more  in  the  cleat 


124  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

vision  which  holds  the  poet,  and  the  vivid 
image  which  is  presented  to  the  mind  of  the 
reader ;  an  image  at  once  individual  and  of  large 
typical  significance,  not  of  a  throng  of  re 
ported  details,  but  of  a  vital  whole,  a  genuine 
imaginative  synthesis.  And  present  here,  as 
in  all  Pope's  work,  is  his  splendid  sense  of 
form,  the  powerful  directing  intellect,  mani 
fest  in  the  selection  of  qualities  to  be  exposed, 
in  the  choice  of  the  fitting  word  or  phrase,  in 
the  proportions,  in  the  brilliant  clarity  of  out- 
x  line.  Realistic  in  observation,  imaginative  in 
^conception,  classical  in  expression,  with  an 
underlying  intensity  of  feeling,  the  portrait 
exhibits  an  admirable  balance  of  qualities  and 
rises  into  the  sphere  of  great  poetry. 

Space  will  not  permit  the  examination  of 
the  work  of  other  poets  of  this  period ;  but 
we  may  fairly  take  Pope  as  representative. 
Could  we  consider  the  verse  of  Dryden,  of 
Swift,  or  of  Dr.  Johnson,  we  should  come  to 
the  same  general  conclusions,  though  with  va 
rieties  of  emphasis.  We  should  find  a  large 
quantity  of  verse  characterized  by  correctness 
of  form,  a  careful  attention  to  models,  and  ex 
hibiting  a  vigorous  intellectual  power,  yet  lack 
ing  at  times  direct  touch  with  reality,  and  still 


REASON  AND  CLASSICISM  125 

oftener  "  the  vision  and  the  faculty  divine." 
This  is  what  we  understand  by  neo-classical 
poetry;  since  its  weakness  lies  in  an  excess 
ive  following  of  classical  tendencies,  and  in 
the  feebleness  or  absence  of  the  balancing 
qualities.  We  should  find,  as  we  seldom  find 
in  Pope,  satirical  poetry  where  the  virulent 
reporting  of  the  observed  vices  and  follies  of 
men  swamps  not  only  the  imagination,  but 
even  the  deliberate  attention  to  form,  and 
exhibits  a  dismal  realism.  We  should  find  a 
considerable  amount  of  writing  possessing  all 
three  fundamental  elements,  but  the  rational 
element  both  in  content  and  in  form  clearly 
in  predominance,  so  that  the  resultant  poetry 
is  fairly  described  as  classical.  And,  finally,  we 
should  find  now  and  again  passages  rather 
than  whole  poems,  in  which  an  approach 
to  the  ideal  equilibrium  is  achieved,  and  great 
poetry  results. 

The  author  in  whose  works  passages  belong 
ing  to  these  last  two  classes  can  most  easily  be 
found  was,  indeed,  contemporary  with  Dryden, 
and  produced  his  greatest  poetry  in  the  period 
of  the  Restoration;  yet,  being  in  that  age, 
he  was  not  of  it.  "  His  soul  was  like  a  star, 
and  dwelt  apart."  Milton,  by  virtue  of  his 


126  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

command  of  exquisite  form,  his  assimilation 
of  a  vast  and  lofty  tradition,  and  his  power 
of  creating  the  beauty  that  satisfies  while  it 
excites,  and  that  finally  subdues  us  to  its  own 
repose,  is  surely  entitled  to  be  called  our  great 
est  classical  poet.  He  would  have  earned  this 
rank  by  Samson  Agonistes  alone,  the  most  per 
fect  example,  on  a  considerable  scale,  of  the 
classical  tendency  in  English  literature.  It  is 
only  because  Milton  is  so  much  else,  is  so  richly 
endowed  on  the  other  sides  of  his  nature,  that 
we  refrain  from  insisting  on  the  epithet  class 
ical,  lest  it  deprive  him  of  a  greater  honor. 

VI 

Classical  poetry,  however,  is  not  confined 
to  the  period  of  Milton  and  Dryden  and  Pope. 
It  will  help  to  clarify  still  further  our  concep 
tion  of  the  quality  resulting  from  a  predomi 
nance  of  the  rational  element  if  we  carry  our 
inquiry  into  the  so-called  Romantic  period,  and 
it  will  at  the  same  time  remind  us  of  that  com 
plex  nature  of  literary  periods  which  it  is  so 
easy  to  assert  and  so  difficult  to  keep  in  mind. 

Probably  no  single  poem  brought  upon  the 
Romantic  Movement  in  England  more  oblo- 
quy  than  Wordsworth's  Excursion.  Various 


REASON  AND  CLASSICISM  127 

causes  combined  to  draw  upon  it  the  shafts 
of  the  early  critics  of  Romanticism,  and  its 
prominence  as  an  object  of  attack  by  the  hos 
tile  party  led  to  its  being  regarded  as  a  char 
acteristically  romantic  product.  This  is  a 
profoundly  mistaken  view.  There  are  many 
kinds  of  things  to  be  found  in  the  vast  tracts 
of  The  Excursion,  realistic  descriptions  of 
landscape  and  of  persons,  expressions  of  a 
romantic  feeling  for  nature  and  of  a  romantic 
interest  in  intimately  personal  aspirations, 
pieces  of  sentimental  narrative,  and  much 
else;  but  the  poem  is  prevailingly  didactic. 
Pope's  Essay  on  Man  is  not  more  so,  and 
if  we  cannot  group  it  with  that  work  as  an 
extreme  instance  of  classical  tendencies,  it  is 
partly  because  of  the  occasional  romantic  and 
realistic  passages,  but  more  because  it  lacks 
the  brilliance  of  form  of  Pope's  work.  Take 
a  specimen : 

One  adequate  support 
For  the  calamities  of  mortal  life 
Exists  —  one  only  ;  an  assured  belief 
That  the  procession  of  our  fate,  howe'er 
Sad  or  disturbed,  is  ordered  by  a  Being 
Of  infinite  benevolence  and  power  ; 
Whose  everlasting  purposes  embrace 
All  accidents,  converting  them  to  good. 

(The  Excursion,  iv,  10-17.) 


128  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Here  is  a  plain  statement  of  theological  be 
lief,  so  plain  that  of  our  three  fundamental  ele 
ments,  one  can  discern  reason  and  reason  only. 
If  this  were  poetry,  it  would  be  classical  poetry ; 
but  reason  is  employed  only  on  the  content; 
there  is  little  or  no  care  for  form,  and  it  escapes 
being  classical  poetry,  not  by  being  romantic, 
but  by  being  prose.  There  are  thousands  of 
such  lines  in  The  Excursion  ;  and  the  reason 
for  my  citing  this  negative  instance  is  to  em 
phasize  the  fact  that  not  all  the  failures  of  the 
romantic  poets  are  romantic  failures  —  not  all 
are  failures  from  excess  of  imagination. 

A  more  successful  instance  is  found  in  Words 
worth's  retelling  of  the  story  of  Laodamia. 
The  Greek  subject  may  have  influenced  Words 
worth  in  his  method  of  treatment ;  but  it  is 
the  method  of  treatment  and  not  the  subject 
that  makes  the  poem  in  our  sense  classical. 
Imaginative  power  is  abundantly  present  in  the 
vivid  presentation  of  the  pathetic  reunion  of 
the  wife  with  the  shade  of  her  dead  husband ; 
but  there  is  notably  absent  the  homeliness  of 
detail  that  gives  their  familiar  realistic  qual 
ity  to  most  of  Wordsworth's  narratives.  But 
one  is  more  impressed  with  the  simplicity  and 
restraint  of  the  picture,  the  dignity  of  the 


REASON  AND   CLASSICISM  129 

expression,  the  subordination  of  the  parts  for 
the  sake  of  the  calm  unity  of  the  whole.  The 
result  is  comparable  to  the  design  on  a  Greek 
vase.  Observe,  too,  how  the  movement  of  the 
verse  unites  with  the  diction,  more  formal  than 
Wordsworth  generally  employs  in  narrative., 
to  convey  the  sense  of  repose : 

This  visage  tells  thee  that  my  doom  is  past  : 

Nor  should  the  change  be  mourned,  even  if  the  joys 

Of  sense  were  able  to  return  as  fast 

And  surely  as  they  vanish.  Earth  destroys 

Those  raptures  duly  —  Erebus  disdains  : 

Calm  pleasures  there  abide  —  majestic  pains. 

Be  taught,  O  faithful  Consort,  to  control 
Rebellious  passion  :  for  the  Gods  approve 
The  depth,  and  not  the  tumult,  of  the  soul ; 
A  fervent,  not  ungovernable,  love. 
Thy  transports  moderate  ;  and  meekly  mourn 
When  I  depart,  for  brief  is  my  sojourn. 

Here  we  have  the  predominance  of  the 
rational  element  both  in  content  and  form,  im 
agination  and  actuality  subordinate  but  suffi 
cient  and  the  result  a  genuine  piece  of  class 
ical  poetry.  It  is  perhaps  worth  noting  that 
Wordsworth  confessed  that  this  poem  "cost 
me  more  trouble  than  almost  any  thing  of 
equal  length  I  have  ever  written." 

But  the  chief  traitor  in  the  romantic  camp 
was  Byron.  Though  in  his  own  day  the  most 


130  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

popular  of  the  romantic  poets  in  England,  and 
conscious  of  his  influence  in  giving  the  move 
ment  vogue,  Byron  yet  kept  himself  apart, 
and  adopted  an  attitude  towards  his  fellow 
romanticists  which  was  at  times  condescending, 
at  others  openly  hostile.  He  frankly  avowed 
his  admiration  of  Pope,  and  his  first  successful 
poems  were  written  in  imitation  of  him.  He 
had  none  of  the  abhorrence  of  neo-classical 
formalism  so  strongly  expressed  by  men  like 
Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  and  Keats.  Although 
he  wrote  much  romantic  poetry,  he  wrote 
more  that  was  merely  sentimental ;  and  his 
most  brilliant  achievement  was  a  satire.  It  has 
now  come  to  be  recognized  that  Byron  is  no 
longer  to  be  classed  as  purely,  or  perhaps  even 
as  primarily,  a  romantic  poet. 

In  Byron's  work,  then,  we  might  expect  to 
find  examples  of  classicism  in  the  midst  of  a 
romantic  era:  not  to  be  sure  in  Childe  Harold.. 
or  the  Oriental  love  romances  like  The  Giaour 
and  The  Corsair,  but  in  the  great  mass  of 
his  satirical  verse.  There  we  do  indeed  find 
an  abundance  of  couplets,  more  or  less  in  the 
manner  of  Pope,  usually  vigorous,  sometimes 
sparkling  and  pointed.  These  things  are  cer 
tainly  not  romantic :  but  we  have  already  noted 


REASON   AND  CLASSICISM  131 

that  classical  is  not  the  only  antithesis  to  that 
term.  Satire  is  often  classical ;  I  have  already 
quoted  Pope's  satire  on  Addison  as  an  admir 
able  example  of  this,  but  it  is  impossible  to 
regard  all  satire  as  classical.  When  the  satir 
ist  rises  above  ill-natured  description  of  actual 
people  and  practices  that  he  dislikes,  employs 
his  generalizing  power  and  produces  types  with 
a  broad  representative  and  permanent  human 
significance ;  when  these  types  are  set  forth 
with  that  regard  for  correctness  of  form  on 
which  we  have  already  dwelt,  then  we  may  have 
satire  that  deserves  to  be  called  classical.  But 
examples  of  this  are  hard  to  find  in  Byron. 
His  early  satires  are  for  the  most  part  venom 
ous  and  unscrupulous  assaults  upon  individ 
uals  ;  and  whatever  their  justification  or  their 
truth,  it  is  not  to  be  found  in  a  permanent 
typical  value.  In  Don  Juan  he  keeps  clear, 
as  a  rule,  from  attacks  on  persons  and  takes  a 
wider  range ;  but  here  too  the  method  is  real 
istic,  though  the  object  is  society  and  manners 
rather  than  men.  Further,  in  both  earlier  and 
later  work,  the  form  has  too  little  polish  to 
merit  by  itself  the  epithet  classic.  Byron  was 
too  impatient,  too  headlong,  too  much,  of  an 
improviser,  to  bestow  on  his  work  that  labor 


132  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

of  pruning  and  finishing  that  gives  the  satire 
of  Pope  a  beauty  of  technical  perfection  which 
pleases  even  when  the  object  of  his  wrath  has 
ceased  to  interest.  Humorist,  sentimentalist, 
realist,  —  all  these,  as  we  shall  see,  Byron  was 
besides  romanticist ;  but  classicist  he  was  not. 
He  touched  the  writers  of  the  neo-classical 
period  at  many  points,  but  not  where  they 
showed  most  of  the  genuinely  classical  spirit. 
The  difficulty  of  fin  ding  clear  examples  of 
distinctly  classical  work  among  the  romantic 
poets  is  not  due  to  a  constant  overwhelming 
predominance  of  the  imaginative  element,  but 
to  the  fact  that  imagination  was  so  rife  among 
them  that  even  when  the  rational  element  and 
the  zeal  for  form  asserted  themselves,  a  consid 
erable  degree  of  imagination  was  apt  to  persist, 
with  the  result  of  a  more  perfect  equilibrium 
than  is  often  found  in  the  preceding  age.  Thus 
it  will  be  at  once  admitted  that  in  the  early 
work  of  Keats,  imagination  is  apt  to  be  in  ex 
cess.  Endymion  is  a  riot  of  imaginative  im 
pulses,  most  of  them  abortive ;  and  the  whole 
poem  falls  limp  and  draggled  from  the  lack  of 
a  strain  of  clear  thinking  and  a  directing  sense 
of  form.  A  year  or  two  later,  so  extraordinarily 
rapid  was  the  development  of  this  genius,  these 


REASON   AND  CLASSICISM  133 

missing  elements  had  been  captured,  and  we 
find  the  poet  producing  work  like  the  Ode 
to  a  Nightingale  and  the  Ode  on  a  Grecian 
Urn.  Abundant  sense  of  fact  Keats  had  always 
possessed;  and  now  in  his  great  masterpieces 
the  errant  imagination  has  been  brought  into 
control  by  a  newly  achieved  power  of  restraint, 
thought  has  added  order  without  extinguishing 
vision,  real  and  ideal  elements  are  wedded  in 
a  perfect  union,  and  the  loftiest  poetic  beauty 
results. 

Another  instance  of  the  same  fortunate 
combination  may  close  this  part  of  our  discus 
sion.  Landor  has  always  been  a  perplexity  to 
the  makers  of  text-books,  because  he  was  so 
difficult  to  classify.  Much  of  this  difficulty 
lies  in  the  very  balance  of  qualities  we  have 
been  glorifying,  though  certain  other  lacks 
bring  him  down  in  the  scale.  But  at  times  he 
rises  above  his  defects,  and  in  a  handful  of  all 
but  perfect  utterances  shows  himself  a  great 
master.  Take  as  an  example  his  Iphigeneia : 

Iphigeneia,  when  she  heard  her  doom 
At  Aulis,  and  when  all  beside  the  king 
Had  gone  away,  took  his  right  hand,  and  saidp 
"  O  father,  I  am  young  and  very  happy. 
I  do  not  think  the  pious  Calchas  heard 
Distinctly  what  the  Goddess  spake.  Old  age 


134  ESSENTIALS   OF  POETRY 

Obscures  the  senses.  If  my  nurse,  who  knew 
My  voice  so  well,  sometimes  misunderstood, 
While  I  was  resting  on  her  knee  both  arms 
And  hitting  it  to  make  her  mind  my  words, 
And  looking  in  her  face,  and  she  in  mine, 
Might  not  he  also  hear  one  word  amiss, 
Spoken  from  so  far  off,  even  from  Olympus  ?  " 
The  father  placed  his  cheek  upon  her  head, 
And  tears  dropt  down  it,  but  the  king  of  men 
Replied  not.  Then  the  maiden  spake  once  more. 

44 O  father  !  sayst  thou  nothing  ?  Hear'st  thou  not 
Me,  whom  thou  ever  hast,  until  this  hour, 
Listened  to  fondly,  and  awaken'd  me 
To  hear  my  voice  amid  the  voice  of  birds, 
When  it  was  inarticulate  as  theirs, 
And  the  dawn  deadened  it  within  the  nest?" 
He  moved  her  gently  from  him,  silent  still, 
And  this,  and  this  alone,  brought  tears  from  her, 
Altho'  she  saw  fate  nearer  :  then  with  sighs, 

"I  thought  to  have  laid  down  my  hair  before 
Benignant  Artemis,  and  not  have  dimm'd 
Her  polisht  altar  with  my  virgin  blood  : 
I  thought  to  have  selected  the  white  flowers 
To  please  the  nymphs,  and  to  have  askt  of  each 
By  name,  and  with  no  sorrowful  regret, 
Whether,  since  both  my  parents  will'd  the  change, 
I  might  at  Hymen's  feet  bend  my  dipt  brow  ; 
And  (after  these  who  mind  us  girls  the  most) 
Adore  our  own  Athena,  that  she  would 
Regard  me  mildly  with  her  azure  eyes. 
But,  father !  to  see  you  no  more,  and  see 
Your  love,  O  father  !  go  ere  I  am  gone  !  " 
Gently  he  moved  her  off,  and  drew  her  back, 
Bending  his  lofty  head  far  over  hers, 
And  the  dark  depths  of  nature  heaved  and  burst 
He  turn'd  away;  not  far,  but  silent  still. 
She  now  first  shudder'd  ;  for  in  him,  so  nigh, 


REASON  AND   CLASSICISM  135 

So  long  a  silence  seem'd  the  approach  of  death, 
And  like  it.  Once  again  she  rais'd  her  voice. 

«'  O  father  !  if  the  ships  are  now  detain'd 
And  all  your  vows  move  not  the  Gods  above, 
When  the  knife  strikes  me  there  will  be  one  prayer 
The  less  to  them  :  and  purer  can  there  be 
Any,  or  more  fervent  than  the  daughter's  prayer 
For  her  dear  father's  safety  and  success  ?  " 
A  groan  that  shook  him  shook  not  his  resolve  ; 
An  aged  man  now  enter'd,  and  without 
One  word,  stept  slowly  on,  and  took  the  wrist 
Of  the  pale  maiden.  She  lookt  up,  and  saw 
The  fillet  of  the  priest  and  calm  cold  eyes. 
Then  turn'd  she  where  her  parent  stood,  and  cried, 

*  O  father  !  grieve  no  more  :  the  ships  can  sail !  " 

Here  we  have  a  sufficient  grasp  on  the 
actual,  or  at  least  no  excessive  remoteness  from 
the  world  of  experience;  a  vivid  imaging  of 
the  external  scene  ;  a  delicate  and  tender  sym 
pathy  with  the  emotion  of  the  characters; 
and  a  superb  controlling  of  all  the  elements 
of  the  composition  in  the  interests  of  simplic 
ity,  unity,  and  proportion.  Yet  the  conscious 
art  of  the  piece  does  not  lessen  the  intensity 
of  the  conception,  so  that  the  whole  group 
stands  out  with  an  almost  statuesque  relief,  in 
an  atmosphere  at  once  clear  and  soft.  Such 
is  the  nobility  of  beauty  that  results  when  the 
classical  spirit  is  given  its  place  in  an  age  of 
romance. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   SENSE    OF   FACT    AND   REALISM 


REALISM  is  the  Cinderella  of  the  poetic 
family.  The  elder  sisters,  Classicism  and  Ro 
manticism,  have  long  been  recognized,  and 
have  had  great  ages  named  in  their  honor, 
but  they  have  tended  to  ignore  their  obscure 
little  sister,  and  either  to  deny  her  rights  as  a 
member  of  the  family,  or  to  admit  her  as,  at 
most,  a  poor  and  distant  relation.  Yet  she  has 
been  in  the  kitchen  all  the  time,  supplying  to 
her  haughty  sisters  the  necessaries  of  life.  Of 
late,  signs  have  not  been  wanting  that  the 
Prince  has  found  her  and  that  she  is  coming 
to  her  own ;  but  the  history  of  poetry  in  the 
past  shows  her  pretty  consistently  left  sitting 
on  the  earth  alone,  sordid  and  foul. 

It  is,  indeed,  not  difficult  to  see  why  Realism 
should  have  been  so  often  left  out  of  the  poetic 
account.  The  imagination  working  in  isolation 
may  produce  nonsense ;  yet  it  is  likely  to  be 
recognized  as  poetic  nonsense :  the  uninspired 
reason  may  give  us  empty  form,  without  soul ; 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM     137 

yet  the  form  may  have  elements  of  beauty :  but 
the  sense  of  fact,  supplying  material  unillum- 
ined  by  imagination  and  unformed  by  the 
judgment,  though  it  may  get  recognition  from 
history  or  science,  seems  to  have  little  or  no 
thing  to  do  with  art.  More  imperatively  than 
the  other  elements  does  it  demand  the  bal 
ance  of  their  presence  if  poetry  is  to  be  the 
result. 

Yet  there  can  be  no  question  that  it  also  is 
essential.  Without  direct  contact  with  life  and 
the  actual  world,  poetry  cannot  remain  sane 
and  vital.  Observation  and  experience  are  the 
ballast  needed  to  give  imagination  steadiness ; 
they  supply  much  of  the  material  to  which 
reason  gives  form.  Without  them,  imagina 
tion  is  a  runaway  balloon,  which  soars,  indeed, 
but  rapidly  passes  out  of  human  reach  and  is 
lost;  reason  is  a  dealer  in  empty  forms,  a  re- 
f  urbisher  of  tradition  living  once,  but  —  in 
the  absence  of  fresh  contact  with  reality  — 
becoming  ever  more  and  more  abstract  and 

o 

lifeless.  Both  the  classic  and  the  romantic 
tendencies,  when  they  have  run  to  dangerous 
extremes,  regain  strength  and  vitality,  like  the 
giant  Antaeus,  by  coming  once  more  into  touch 
with  mother  earth. 


138  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

In  the  history  of  prose  fiction  the  antithesis 
of  romantic  and  realistic  has  been  abundantly 
recognized,  the  classical  being  in  this  field 
the  neglected  element;  but  in  the  history  of 
poetry  this  renewing  effect  of  the  sense  of 
fact,  though  often  manifested,  has  yet  been 
strangely  ignored.  It  has  appeared  as  a  reaction 
from  both  classicism  and  romanticism,  but  has 
been  called  by  either  of  these  names  rather 
than  by  its  own.  Abundant  examples  of  this 
error  can  be  found  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
a  period  in  which  recent  critics  have  paid  much 
attention  to  the  supposed  conflict  of  the  more 
generally  recognized  tendencies.  Thus  James 
Thomson  has  been  given  much  prominence  on 
account  of  his  supposed  importance  as  a  roman 
tic  poet  in  an  age  prevailingly  neo-classic.  It 
may  be  admitted  at  once  that  this  is  not  with 
out  justification.  Take  a  couple  of  stanzas  from 
the  opening  of  The  Castle  of  Indolence: 

In  lowly  dale,  fast  by  a  river  side, 
With  woody  hill  o'er  hill  encompass'd  round, 
A  most  enchanting  wizard  did  abide, 
Than  whom  a  fiend  more  fell  is  no  where  found. 
It  was,  I  ween,  a  lovely  spot  of  ground  ; 
And  there  a  season  atween  June  and  May, 
Half  prankt  with  spring,  with  summer  half  imbrown'dr 
A  listless  climate  made,  where,  sooth  to  say, 
No  living  wight  could  work,  ne  cared  eveu  for  play. 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM     139 

A  pleasing  land  of  drowsy-head  it  was, 
Of  dreams  that  wave  before  the  half-shut  eye 
And  of  gay  castles  in  the  clouds  that  pass, 
For  ever  flushing  round  a  summer  sky  ; 
There  eke  the  soft  delights,  that  witchingly 
Instil  a  wanton  sweetness  through  the  breast, 
And  the  calm  pleasures  always  hover'd  nigh  ; 
But  whace'er  smack'd  of  noyance,  or  unrest, 
Was  far  far  off  expell'd  from  this  delicious  nest. 

A  clearer  contrast  with  both  the  form  and 
spirit  of  the  prevailing  school  of  Pope  could 
hardly  be  imagined ;  and  the  freedom  from  any 
realistic  tendency  is  not  less  marked.  In  this 
poem  Thomson  takes  a  deliberate  journey  into 
Spenser's  Land  of  Faerie,  adopts  the  master's 
form  of  verse,  his  diction,  his  type  of  allegory, 
and  so  far  as  he  can,  his  style  of  thought  and 
imagery.  As  a  result,  save  in  the  respect  that 
it  is  confessedly  a  literary  imitation  rather 
than  purely  an  expression  of  individual  tem 
perament,  he  produces  a  thorough-going  piece 
of  romantic  art. 

But  it  is  not  this  poem  on  which  the  main 
stress  is  laid  when  Thomson  is  hailed  as  a 
reviver  of  romance,  but  his  much  more  widely 
influential  Seasons.  These  elaborate  descrip 
tions  of  landscape  and  the  weather  certainly 
afford  a  strong  contrast  to  the  contemporary 
preoccupation  with  social  life  in  cities.  But 


140  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

before  we  accept  this  as  evidence  of  a  roman 
tic  reaction  against  classicism  further  consider 
ation  is  necessary.  It  is  true  that  the  age  of 
Anne  and  of  George  I  dealt,  in  its  literature, 
largely  with  town  life,  yet  this  is  not  the  char 
acteristic  by  virtue  of  which  it  can  be  called 
classical  or  even  neo-classical.  To  a  man  of 
Thomson's  rural  upbringing,  the  materials  for 
poetry  of  polite  society,  and  perhaps  interest  in 
it,  were  lacking,  and  to  the  public  his  extension 
of  the  field  of  verse  came  as  a  relief  from  monot 
ony.  To  see  in  what  direction  this  relief  was 
found,  let  us  examine  a  typical  passage : 

Home,  from  his  morning  task,  the  swain  retreats  ; 

His  flock  before  him  stepping  to  the  fold  ; 

While  the  f ull-udder'd  mother  lows  around 

The  cheerful  cottage,  then  expecting  food, 

The  food  of  innocence  and  health!  The  daw, 

The  rook  and  magpie,  to  the  grey-grown  oaks 

That  the  calm  village  in  their  verdant  arms, 

Sheltering,  embrace,  direct  their  lazy  flight ; 

Where  on  the  mingling  boughs  they  sit  embower'd, 

All  the  hot  noon,  till  cooler  hours  arise. 

Fain,  underneath,  the  household  fowls  convene  ; 

And,  in  a  corner  of  the  buzzing  shade, 

The  house  dog,  with  the  vacant  greyhound,  lies 

Out-stretch 'd  and  sleeps. 

(Summer,  220-233.) 

The  recollective  imagination  is  undoubtedly 
active  here :  the  poet  calls  up  from  a  well-stored 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM     141 

memory,  a  series  of  clearly  seen  images.  But 
with  this  the  function  of  the  imagination  al 
most  ceases;  the  sheer  memory  of  what  has 
been  observed  dominates  so  far  as  content  is 
concerned,  and  the  result  is  little  more  than 
an  elaborately  phrased  enumeration  of  details. 
At  times  Thomson  does  this  somewhat  more 
interestingly:  the  chosen  epithet  has  not  in 
frequently  a  penetrating  power  that  brings  be 
fore  us  some  essential  characteristic,  "  spring 
ing  the  imagination,"  to  use  Meredith's  phrase. 
But  in  general  a  somewhat  literal  rendering 
of  fact  is  the  prevailing  method.  Professor 
Beers  has  pointed  out  a  few  passages  in  which 
Thomson  treats  the  more  awe-inspiring  aspects 
of  nature  in  an  approach  to  the  romantic  man 
ner,  but  he  admits  that  these  are  merely  occa 
sional.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is  much  de 
scription  by  hearsay,  and  no  small  amount  of 
purely  conventional  matter  that  comes  close 
to  the  landscape  of  Pope's  Windsor  Forest. 
Further,  it  will  be  observed  that  though  Thom 
son  uses  blank  verse  instead  of  the  couplet, 
his  language  is  profusely  decorated  with  that 
mannered  and  pretentious  poetic  diction  that 
roused  the  indignation  of  Wordsworth  against 
the  neo-classical  tradition.  The  farmer  appears 


142  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

as  the  "swain,"  the  cow  as  "the  full-udder' d 
mother,"  milk  as  "the  food  of  innocence  and 
health,"  the  hens  do  not  gather,  "  the  house 
hold  fowls  convene,"  the  greyhound  is  not  idle 
but "  vacant."  In  diction,  clearly,  Thomson  is 
no  reformer. 

It  appears,  then,  that  this  supposed  leader 
of  the  romantic  revolt  must  base  his  claim 
chiefly  on  the  imitative  Spenserianism  of  The 
Castle  of  Indolence,  and  that  The  Seasons 
shows  him  reacting  from  neo-classicism  only 
in  the  possession  of  a  realistic  method  in  the 
treatment  of  nature,  while  his  language  remains 
purely  neo-classic. 

Later  in  the  century  we  find  a  somewhat 
similar  phenomenon  in  Cowper.  The  vogue 
of  Thomson  had  produced  many  imitators 
both  at  home  and  abroad,  so  that  when  -we 
come  to  the  descriptive  writing  of  Cowper, 
it  is  with  no  shock  of  contrast.  But  Cowper 
was  a  finer  and  sincerer  spirit  than  Thom 
son,  and  his  pictorial  passages  are  admirable 
examples  of  the  poetry  of  observation  of  na 
ture,  in  which  a  loving  sense  of  the  fact  is 
illumined  by  imaginative  insight  and  regu 
lated  by  a  feeling  for  traditional  form  not  too 
oppressive. 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM     143 

Nor  rural  sights  alone,  but  rural  sounds 
Exhilarate  the  spirit,  and  restore 
The  tone  of  languid  nature.  Mighty  winds, 
That  sweep  the  skirt  of  some  far-spreading  wood 
Of  ancient  growth,  make  music  not  unlike 
The  dash  of  ocean  on  his  winding  shore, 
And  lull  the  spirit  while  they  fill  the  mind  ; 
Unnumber'd  branches  waving  in  the  blast, 
And  all  their  leaves  fast  fluttering,  all  at  once. 
Nor  less  composure  waits  upon  the  roar 
Of  distant  floods,  or  on  the  softer  voice 
Of  neighbouring  fountain,  or  of  rills  that  slip 
Through  the  cleft  rock,  andt  chiming  as  they  fall 
Upon  loose  pebbles,  lose  themselves  at  length 
In  matted  grass,  that  with  a  livelier  green 
Betrays  the  secret  of  their  silent  course. 

(The  Task,  i,  181-196.) 

In  such  a  passage  we  are  made  to  share  the 
response  of  a  finely  sensitive  perception  to  the 
more  delicately  stimulating  of  natural  phe 
nomena.  It  exhibits  clearly  the  contribution 
to  poetry  of  the  realistic  tendency,  and  it  is  the 
outcome,  not  of  any  reactionary  or  reforming 
purpose,  but  merely  of  the  natural  balance  of 
qualities  in  the  poet's  temperament. 

Very  differently  did  George  Crabbe  feel 
with  regard  to  this  matter.  In  his  youth  Crabbe 
had  been  brought  up  under  hard  circumstances 
in  the  somewhat  unpicturesque  scenery  of  the 
coast  of  Suffolk.  These  physical  surroundings 
stamped  themselves  on  his  memory,  and  bore 


144  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

fruit  after  many  days.  The  traditional  form 
in  which  classical  poetry  had  sought  to  cater 
to  the  natural  taste  for  country  life  was  the 
pastoral ;  but  as  this  form  came  down  from 
century  to  century  it  gathered  ever  new  feat 
ures  and  uses,  and  left  the  actual  country 
farther  and  farther  behind  it.  The  pastorals 
of  Philips  and  Pope  are  extreme  examples  of 
the  tendency  of  a  literary  tradition  to  become 
mannered  and  artificial,  and  it  was  to  be  sup 
posed  that  every  one  had  long  since  given  up 
regarding  this  literary  mode  as  anything  but 
quaintly  decorative.  Not  so  George  Crabbe. 
The  contrast  between  the  golden  world  of  the 
artificial  pastoral,  or  even  the  idealized  country 
life  of  The  Deserted  Village,  and  the  actual 
conditions  of  the  English  laborer  as  he  knew 
him,  roused  him  to  fierce  resentment,  and  he 
bursts  into  verse  as  a  professed  realist,  yielding 
to  no  imaginative  vision,  and  caring  for  form 
only  so  far  as  it  helped  to  make  his  protest 
effective. 

Fled  are  those  times,  when  in  harmonious  strains 
The  rustic  poet  praised  his  native  plains  : 
No  shepherds  now,  in  smooth  alternate  verse, 
Their  country's  beauty  or  their  nymphs'  rehearse  ; 
Yet  still  for  these  we  frame  the  tender  strain, 
Still  in  our  lays  fond  Corydons  complain, 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND   REALISM     14T 

And  shepherds'  boys  their  amorous  pains  reveal, 
The  only  pains,  alas  !  they  never  feel. 

On  Mincio's  banks,  in  Caesar's  bounteous  reign, 
If  Tityrus  found  the  Golden  Age  again, 
Must  sleepy  bards  the  flattering  dream  prolong, 
Mechanic  echoes  of  the  Mantuan  song  ? 
From  Truth  and  Nature  shall  we  widely  stray, 
Where  Virgil,  not  where  Fancy,  leads  the  way  ? 

I  grant  indeed  that  fields  and  flocks  have  charms 
For  him  that  grazes,  or  for  him  that  farms  ; 
But  when  amid  such  pleasing  scenes  I  trace 
The  poor  laborious  natives  of  the  place, 
And  see  the  mid-day  sun,  with  fervid  ray, 
On  their  bare  heads  and  dewy  temples  play ; 
While  some,  with  feebler  heads  and  fainter  hearts, 
Deplore  their  fortune,  yet  sustain  their  parts  : 
Then  shall  I  dare  these  real  ills  to  hide 
In  tinsel  trappings  of  poetic  pride  ? 

No  ;  cast  by  Fortune  on  a  frowning  coast, 
Which  neither  groves  nor  happy  valleys  boast ; 
Where  other  cares  than  those  the  Muse  relates, 
And  other  shepherds  dwell  with  other  mates  ; 
By  such  examples  taught,  I  paint  the  Cot 
As  Truth  will  paint  it,  and  as  Bards  will  not. 

Lo  !  where  the  heath,  with  withering  brake  grown  o'er» 
Lends  the  light  turf  that  warms  the  neighbouring  poor 
From  thence  a  length  of  burning  sand  appears, 
Where  the  thin  harvest  waves  its  wither'd  ears  ; 
Rank  weeds,  that  every  art  and  care  defy, 
Reign  o'er  the  land,  and  rob  the  blighted  rye  : 
There  thistles  stretch  their  prickly  arms  afar, 
And  to  the  ragged  infant  threaten  war  .  .  . 
With  mingled  tints  the  rocky  coasts  abound, 
And  a  sad  splendour  vainly  shines  around. 

(The  Village,  I,  7  ff.) 


146  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Nowhere  in  English  poetry  can  one  find 
pictures  so  relentlessly  dismal  as  these  of 
Crabbe,  nowhere  a  poet  so  intent  on  truth  to 
reality  as  his  single  aim.  Yet  the  result  is  not 
purely  objective  :  the  scene  is  colored  by  the 
writer's  personality,  the  gloom  is  heightened 
by  his  imagination.  The  facts  that  met  his 
eye  were  not  so  unremittingly  squalid  ;  the 
indignation  which  burned  in  his  heart  lifted 
his  pictures  above  the  level  of  a  poor-law  re 
port,  and  made  him  a  poet,  though  a  humble 
one,  in  spite  of  himself.  But  he  remained  a 
realist  or  nothing. 

The  greatest  realistic  poet  ot  the  century 
had  an  experience  of  rural  life  and  its  hard 
ships  more  wretched  and  prolonged  by  far 
than  was  enclosed  in  the  early  years  of  Crabbe. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  present  again  the  evidence 
that  Robert  Burns  knew  what  he  was  writing 
about  when  he  sang  of  the  peasant's  lot;  yet 
here  we  have  no  such  pictures  of  unrelieved 
gloom  as  fill  the  pages  of  the  English  parson, 
though  one  is  convinced  that  there  is  no  less 
truth. 

Burns,  like  the  other  realists  who  offer  a 
contrast  to  neo-classical  convention,  has  been 
regarded  as  a  reviver  of  romanticism ;  and  this 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM      147 

so  persistently  that  one  must  hesitate  about 
taking  a  contrary  view.  His  work  falls  into 
three  main  classes :  satire,  descriptive  and  nar 
rative  verse,  and  lyric.  By  virtue  of  the  last 
of  these,  the  romanticists  have,  it  would  seem, 
a  fair  claim  to  him.  We  have  already  seen 
that  lyric  is  the  peculiarly  romantic  form  of 
poetry,  since  it  is,  more  directly  than  any  other, 
the  utterance  of  the  personal  and  intimate 
mood  of  the  individual  soul.  The  four  lines 
so  much  admired  by  Byron  are  a  sufficient 
reminder  of  how  poignantly  Burns  could  give 
expression  to  personal  longing : 

Had  we  never  lov'd  sae  kindly, 
Had  we  never  lov'd  sae  blindly, 
Never  met  —  or  never  parted  — 
We  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  this  in  Burns,  and 
I  do  not  wish  to  deny  that  he  is  a  notable 
figure  in  the  reappearance  of  the  subjective 
lyric  in  Britain.  Yet,  if  we  study  his  songs, 
certain  distinctions  are  forced  upon  our  notice. 
In  the  case  of  many  of  them,  it  would  be  ab 
surd  to  regard  them  as  outpourings  of  the 
aspirations  of  the  soul,  yearnings  after  the 
ideal  and  unattainable.  The  soul,  as  a  rule,  is 
very  little  concerned  in  the  aspirations  ex- 


148  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

pressed  in  Burns's  songs,  what  he  yearns  after 
is  often  not  ideal,  but  very  real  —  the  girl  bind 
ing  sheaves  in  the  next  row,  for  example — and 
he  has  little  fear  of  finding  her  unattainable. 
The  contrast  between  Burns's  typical  love- 
songs  and  the  pure  lyric  of  romantic  aspiration 
will  be  perceived  at  once  if  we  put  beside 
one  of  them  a  characteristic  production  of 
Shelley's: 

O  world  !  O  life  !  O  time  ! 
On  whose  last  steps  I  climb, 

Trembling  at  that  where  I  had  stood  before  ; 
When  will  return  the  glory  of  your  prime  ? 

No  more —  Oh,  never  more  I 

Out  of  the  day  and  night 
A  joy  has  taken  flight ; 

Fresh  spring,  and  summer,  and  winter  hoar 
Move  my  faint  heart  with  grief,  but  with  delight 

No  more  —  Oh,  never  more  ! 

Now  Burns : 

Now  in  her  green  mantle  blythe  Nature  arrays, 
And  listens  the  lambkins  that  bleat  o'er  the  braes, 
While  birds  warble  welcomes  in  ilka  green  shaw, 
But  to  me  it 's  delightless  —  my  Nanie  's  awa. 

The  snawdrap  and  primrose  our  woodlands  adorn, 
And  violets  bathe  in  the  weet  o'  the  morn. 
They  pain  my  sad  bosom,  sae  sweetly  they  blaw : 
They  mind  me  o'  Nanie  —  and  Nanie 's  awa. 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM  149 

Thou  lav'rock,  that  springs  frae  the  dews  of  the  lawn 
The  shepherd  to  warn  o'  the  grey-breaking  dawn, 
And  thou  mellow  mavis,  that  hails  the  night-fa', 
Give  over  for  pity  —  my  Name  's  awa. 

Come  Autumn,  sae  pensive  in  yellow  and  grey, 
And  soothe  me  wi'  tidings  o*  Nature's  decay  ! 
The  dark  dreary  Winter  and  wild-driving  snaw 
Alane  can  delight  me  —  now  Nanie  's  awa. 

Burns's  song  has  a  strain  of  delicate  senti 
ment  ;  the  imaginative  atmosphere  is  evident 
in  the  pervasiveness  of  the  so-called  pathetic 
fallacy;  but  at  bottom  it  is  a  very  definite  and 
human  expression  of  longing  for  a  definite  and 
human  girl.  The  imaginative  element  is  an 
cillary,  the  actual  fact  is  in  the  foreground ; 
while  in  Shelley's  poem,  the  thing  in  the  fore 
ground  is  the  consciousness  of  a  vague  yearn 
ing  for  an  ideal  glory  that  has  passed  away. 
This  song  is  a  very  fair  example  of  the  work 
of  Burns :  some  are  more  highly  imaginative, 
many  more  earthly  and  literal ;  the  best  are 
masterpieces  that  might  have  been  chosen  to 
illustrate  our  ideal  balance  of  qualities.  A  ro 
mantic  strain  Burns  surely  exhibits;  but  on 
the  whole  he  is  a  realist  even  in  his  songs. 

About  the  other  two  groups  into  which  I 
have  classified  his  work  there  is  less  need  for 
detailed  discussion.  Satire,  we  have  noted,  may 


150  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

be  inspired  by  emotion  so  intense  that  the 
imagination  is  aroused,  and  real  poetry  re 
suits ;  but  we  have  not  yet  found  imagination 
so  abundant  as  to  produce  a  romantic  satire. 
Nor  do  we  find  it  in  Burns.  The  scathing  ex 
posure  of  the  hypocrisy  of  the  Auld  Licht 
elders  and  ministers,  the  abuses  cloaked  by 
religion  at  the  Holy  Fair,  the  moral  and  phy 
sical  defects  of  the  poet's  enemies,  —  such 
themes  as  these  are  treated  with  a  sturdy  ad 
herence  to  the  facts  of  the  individual  case. 
Occasionally,  as  in  the  address  To  the  Unco 
Guid,  or  the  Rigidly  Righteous,  he  rises 
above  the  individual,  and  gives  us  good  class 
ical  satire  of  the  type  ;  but  in  general,  in  this 
group  also  he  is  predominatingly  a  realist. 

The  same  may  be  said  with  regard  to  his 
descriptive  and  narrative  poetry.  In  The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night  the  realism  is  soft 
ened  by  sentiment,  in  Tarn  o'  Shanter  it  is 
lightened  by  humor,  in  The  Jolly  Beggars  it 
is  transformed  by  a  stupendous  achievement 
of  sympathy  into  an  unsurpassed  expression  of 
the  sheer  joy  of  living;  but  the  fundamental 
characteristic  of  all  these  poems  is  a  persistent 
adherence  to  the  observed  fact.  "  Burns's 
World  of  Scotch  drink,  Scotch  religion,  and 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM     161 

Scotch  manners  "  which  so  offended  the  deli 
cate  nostrils  of  Matthew  Arnold,  was  the  only 
world  Burns  really  knew,  and  he  obeyed  his 
genius  and  served  his  people  by  depicting  it 
with  an  unsurpassed  vividness  and  truth. 

In  our  discussion  of  the  imaginative  element 
in  the  romantic  poetry  of  nature,  we  found 
abundant  illustrations  in  the  work  of  Words 
worth.  But  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  all, 
or  nearly  all,  of  Wordsworth's  nature  poetry 
is  dominated  by  the  imagination.  Much  of  it 
derives  its  interest  and  value,  not  from  its  re 
lation  to  the  poet's  spiritual  experiences,  or 
from  the  mystery  and  suggestiveness  of  pic 
tures  of  wild  glens  and  towering  mountains, 
but  from  a  humble  faithfulness  to  the  mere 
external  face  of  nature.  Even  the  Tintern 
Abbey  lines  begin  with  a  piece  of  description 
touched  with  fancy,  but  not  in  itself  notably 
romantic ;  and  the  superb  opening  landscape 
of  The  Excursion,  while  admirably  composed 
and  vividly  presented,  is  a  realistic  rather  than 
a  romantic  masterpiece. 

Twas  summer,  and  the  sun  had  mounted  high  : 
Southward  the  landscape  indistinctly  glared 
Through  a  pale  steam  ;  but  all  the  northern  downs, 
In  clearest  air  ascending,  showed  far  off 
A  surface  dappled  o'er  with  shadows  flung 


152  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

From  brooding  clouds  ;  shadows  that  lay  in  spots 
Determined  and  unmoved,  with  steady  beams 
Of  bright  and  pleasant  sunshine  interposed  ; 
To  him  most  pleasant  who  on  soft  cool  moss 
Extends  his  careless  limbs  along  the  front 
Of  some  huge  cave,  whose  rocky  ceiling  casts 
A  twilight  of  its  own,  an  ample  shade, 
Where  the  wren  warbles,  while  the  dreaming  man, 
Half  conscious  of  the  soothing  melody, 
With  sidelong  eye  looks  out  upon  the  scene, 
By  power  of  that  impending  covert,  thrown 
To  finer  distance. 

Passages  such  as  this,  void  of  metaphysical 
significance,  or  of  any  emotion  except  that 
called  forth  by  pure  natural  beauty,  are  com 
mon  enough  in  Wordsworth,  though  they  have 
been  overshadowed  in  critical  writing  by  dis 
cussion  of  his  more  subjective  work.  Not  only 
are  Wordsworth's  successful  pieces  often  prim 
arily  realistic  triumphs,  but  some  of  his  fail 
ures  are  due  to  an  excess  of  realism,  neither 
relieved  by  beauty  of  form  nor  raised  by  im 
agination.  In  a  note  to  the  poem  called  The 
Thorn,  he  tells  us  that  he  was  impressed  by 
the  appearance  of  a  thorn-bush  on  the  ridge 
of  Quantock  Hill,  seen  on  a  stormy  day ;  and 
he  was  moved  to  try  by  some  invention  to  make 
it  permanently  an  impressive  object,  as  the 
storm  had  made  it  to  his  eyes.  The  invention, 
unfortunately,  proved  inadequate ;  and  the 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM     153 

thorn  was  described  in  all  its  ugliness  without 
becoming  impressive.  And  if  here  his  imagin 
ation  failed  him,  his  sense  of  form  played 
him  false  also,  and  led  him  to  the  choice  of  a 
stanza  and  a  metre  that  only  emphasized  the 
barrenness  of  the  conception.  Nothing  is  left 
then  but  plain  literal  enumeration  of  external 
attributes : 

There  is  a  Thorn  —  it  looks  so  old, 

In  truth,  you  'd  find  it  hard  to  say 

How  it  could  ever  have  been  young, 

It  looks  so  old  and  grey. 

Not  higher  than  a  two  years'  child 

It  stands  erect,  this  aged  Thorn  ; 

No  leaves  it  has,  no  prickly  points  ; 

It  is  a  mass  of  knotted  joints, 

A  wretched  thing  forlorn. 

It  stands  erect,  and  like  a  stone 

With  lichens  is  it  overgrown. 

The  lichens  get  another  stanza ;  then  one 
is  given  to  a  "  little  muddy  pond  three  yards  be 
yond  " ;  then  two  to  a  hill  of  moss,  just  half  a 
foot  in  height,  and  so  on.  Seldom  was  Words 
worth  more  nakedly  uninspired. 

It  is  worth  noting  that  in  neither  of  the 
cases  of  poetic  failure  which  the  course  of  the 
argument  has  led  us  to  observe  in  Wordsworth 
is  the  cause  to  be  found  in  excess  of  the  im- 


154  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

aginative  element :  one  is  unrelieved  didacti 
cism,  the  other  real  literalism,  but  neither  is  a 
romantic  failure. 

The  poetry  of  Scott  continues  the  tradition 
of  his  national  literature  in  its  abundance  of 
natural  description.  Passages  like  his  picture 
of  the  Trosachs  at  sunset  in  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake  are  among  the  popular  favorites  in  de 
scriptive  poetry,  and  it  is  easy  to  find  in  his 
poems  evidence  that  he  strongly  shared  the 
romantic  sensibility  to  wild  and  lonely  scenery. 
It  is  interesting,  then,  to  remember  that  Words 
worth  looked  with  an  unfriendly  eye  on  these 
set  pieces  of  his  more  popular  contemporary, 
and  blamed  him  for  making  "  inventories  of 
Nature's  beauties."  The  moment  we  hear  the 
phrase,  we  recognize  the  method  that  Words 
worth  is  censuring,  the  tendency  to  produce 
a  picture  by  a  mere  piling  up  of  details  by  sim 
ple  enumeration.  The  question  then  arises 
as  to  how  far  there  is  added  to  this  matter-of- 
fact  basis  an  imaginative  element  which  justi 
fies  the  usual  estimate  of  Scott's  treatment  of 
scenery  as  romantic.  The  description  of  Edin 
burgh  in  the  fourth  canto  of  Marmion  may 
be  quoted  as  a  fair  specimen  of  his  pictorial 
method : 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM     155 

Still  on  the  spot  Lord  Marmion  stay'd, 
For  fairer  scene  he  ne'er  survey'd. 

When  sated  with  the  martial  show 

That  peopled  all  the  plain  below, 

The  wandering  eye  could  o'er  it  go, 

And  mark  the  distant  city  glow 
With  gloomy  splendour  red; 

For  on  the  smoke-wreaths,  huge  and  slow. 

That  round  her  sable  turrets  flow, 
The  morning  beams  were  shed, 

And  ting'd  them  with  a  lustre  proud, 

Like  that  which  streaks  a  thunder-cloud. 
Such  dusky  grandeur  cloth'd  the  height, 
Where  the  huge  Castle  holds  its  state, 

And  all  the  steep  slope  down, 
Whose  ridgy  back  heaves  to  the  sky, 
Pil'd  deep  and  massy,  close  and  high, 

Mine  own  romantic  town  ! 
But  northward  far,  with  purer  blaze, 
On  Ochil  mountains  fell  the  rays, 
And  as  each  heathy  top  they  kiss'd, 
It  gleam'd  a  purple  amethyst. 
Yonder  the  shores  of  Fife  you  saw ; 
Here  Preston-Bay  and  Berwick-Law  1 

And,  broad  between  them  roll'd, 
The  gallant  Frith  the  eye  might  note, 
Whose  islands  on  its  bosom  float, 

Like  emeralds  chas'd  in  gold. 

(Canto  iv,  m.) 

That  this  is  a  portrait  landscape,  drawn 
with  a  loving  and  accurate  memory  of  every 
feature,  will  at  once  be  conceded.  If  we  com 
pare  it  with  the  more  absolutely  romantic 
scenery  in  Kubla  Khan  or  the  shimmering 


156  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

visions  of  Shelley,  we  at  once  recognize  that 
it  contains  a  strong  realistic  element.  But 
mere  inventory  it  surely  is  not.  The  powerful 
patriotic  emotion  which  surges  through  it  has 
quickened  the  poet's  imagination,  and  has  led 
to  an  idealization  which  is  felt  in  the  pulsing 
measure,  the  swelling  diction  showing  pride 
in  every  adjective,  and,  above  all,  in  the  be 
stowal  upon  the  scene  of  a  magnificence  of 
color  which  the  scientific  observer  would  seek 
in  vain  in  that  gray  city  by  the  northern  sea. 
I  do  not  think  that  it  will  be  objected  that 
this  passage  is  exceptional  in  Scott.  The  pa 
triotic  emotion  is  often  replaced  by  a  heroic 
or  romantic  one  rising  out  of  the  tale  itself ; 
but  in  general  Scott's  landscapes,  while  real 
and  sometimes  overcrowded,  are  suffused  and 
unified  by  imagination  and  feeling.  They  are, 
in  other  words,  romantic  landscapes,  but  with 
a  solid  basis  in  observation  and  memory, 
thoroughly  characteristic  of  Scott,  who,  with 
all  his  sympathy  with  romance,  always  kept 
his  feet  upon  the  ground.  In  very  similar  fash 
ion,  Scott's  romantic  medievalism  had  a  firm 
foundation  in  his  substantial  archaBological 
learning. 

Another  instance  of  realism  as  a  supporting 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM  157 

but  not  a  dominating  quality  is  to  be  found 
in  the  descriptive  poetry  of  Keats.  In  a  pre 
vious  chapter  we  noted  that  the  weak  element 
in  Keats's  early  poetry  was  the  intellectual, 
and  that  the  invertebrate  quality  of  Endymion 
was  due  mainly  to  a  defective  sense  of  form 
and  a  lack  of  rational  coherence.  As  this  miss 
ing  element  developed  in  the  poet,  the  balance 
became  more  fairly  adjusted,  until  he  grew 
capable  of  the  master  work  of  the  Odes.  But 
the  fault  of  Keats,  when  dealing  with  external 
nature,  was  never  a  lack  of  sense  of  fact.  The 
passages  already  quoted l  to  show  the  suffusion 
of  imagination  in  his  descriptive  poetry  ex 
hibited  at  the  same  time  evidences  of  a  delicate 
and  precise  observation.  It  is  rare  to  find  in 
Keats  whole  stretches  of  landscape  transferred 
from  nature  to  the  page,  feature  by  feature  in 
their  actual  order,  such  as  we  find  in  Scott, 
and  sometimes  in  Wordsworth.  His  realism 
appears  rather  in  the  apprehension  of  minute 
details,  but  these  details  are  assembled  because 
of  their  appeal  to  the  same  sense,  or  their 
suitability  to  a  single  mood,  or  because  they 
have,  as  it  were,  a  common  flavor,  not  because 
of  topographical  proximity.  An  example  oc- 

1  See  ante,  pp.  94-95. 


168  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

curs  in  the  list  of  "  shapes  of  beauty  "  in  the 
opening  of  Endymion,  and  another  later  in 
the  same  poem  : 

O  thou,  to  whom 

Broad  leaved  fig-trees  even  now  foredoom 
Their  ripen'd  fruitage  ;  yellow  girted  bees 
Their  golden  honeycombs  ;  our  village  leas 
Their  fairest  blossom 'd  beans  and  poppied  corn  ; 
The  chuckling  linnet  its  five  young  unborn, 
To  sing  for  thee  ;  low  creeping  strawberries 
Their  summer  coolness  ;  pent  up  butterflies 
Their  freckled  wings  .  .  . 

(Booki,  vv.  261-259.) 

Such  unity  as  passages  like  these  possess  is 
not  structural,  for  that  is  precisely  where  the 
young  poet  is  weak,  but  sensuous.  Every  epithet 
bears  evidence  of  a  vivid  recollection  of  the 
thrill  of  actual  physical  experience.  Had  not 
Keats's  imagination  been  so  extraordinarily 
and  persistently  active,  we  should  have  been 
bound  to  regard  him  as  a  realistic  artist :  as 
it  is,  this  vivid  consciousness  of  actual  sense 
impressions  gave  even  his  early  work  a  cer 
tain  element  of  stability,  and  when  he  finally 
achieved  a  mastery  of  form,  made  possible  the 
triumphs  of  his  highest  achievement. 

Shelley  is  all  but  a  negative  instance.  The 
fault,  it  has  been  said,  of  Shelley's  descriptions 
is  that  they  do  not  describe ;  and  in  spite  of 


THE   SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM     159 

the  splendor  of  his  visions  of  mountain  and 
sky  and  forest,  our  pleasure  is  apt  to  be  less 
ened  by  the  pervading  sense  of  insubstan- 
tiality,  and  we  often  long  to  feel  a  touch  of 
the  actual  earth.  So  complete  is  the  dominance 
of  the  imaginative  over  the  actual  in  Shelley, 
that  even  when  he  is  presenting  to  us  a  con 
crete  picture,  he  seeks  to  make  it  more  vivid 
by  an  illustration  drawn  from  the  world  of 
spiritual  experience,  thus  reversing  the  usual 
process  of  bringing  ideal  conceptions  within 
our  reach  by  physical  similes.  Here  is  an 
example  from  The  Centi  : 

The  road  ...  is  rough  and  narrow, 

And  winds  with  short  turns  down  the  precipice  ; 

And  in  its  depths  there  is  a  mighty  rock, 

Which  has,  from  unimaginable  years, 

Sustained  itself  with  terror  and  with  toil 

Over  a  gulf,  and  with  the  agony 

With  which  it  clings  seems  slowly  coming  down ; 

Even  as  a  wretched  soul,  hour  after  hour, 

Clings  to  the  mass  of  life  ;  yet  clinging,  leans  ; 

And  leaning,  makes  more  dark  the  dread  abyss 

In  which  it  fears  to  fall:  beneath  this  crag 

Huge  as  despair,  as  if  in  weariness, 

The  melancholy  mountain  yawns  below. 

(in,  i,  244-257.) 

To  Shelley  the  physical  is  less  real  than  the 
jdeal,  and  has  to  be  made  present  by  figures 


160  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

drawn  from  the  world  above   the  senses,  in 
which  the  poet  felt  most  at  home. 

There  is  no  question  that  this  weakness  on 
the  realistic  side  has  narrowed  the  appeal  of 
Shelley's  poetry,  and,  I  believe,  lessened  its 
absolute  artistic  value.  But  with  him,  too,  one 
can  perceive  an  increase  in  balance  towards 
the  close.  In  spite  of  large  ideal  and  subject 
ive  elements  in  Adonais,  it  seems  as  if  the 
objective  fact  of  the  death  of  Keats  had  suf 
ficed  to  give  ballast  to  the  vessel,  so  that,  to 
a  much  greater  extent  than  in  Alastor,  for 
instance,  he  is  able  to  steer  to  a  fixed  port. 
Similarly,  the  concrete  plot  supplied  to  him 
by  the  story  of  the  Cenci  family  gave  to  this 
drama  a  quality  of  the  actual  which  is  rare  in 
his  other  work;  and  which,  though  it  may  ap 
peal  less  to  the  Shelley  worshipper,  is  likely  to 
give  it,  in  the  judgment  of  posterity,  a  place 
among  the  finest  and  most  permanent  of  his 
productions. 

II 

The  satirical  way  of  writing  has  usually 
been  treated  as  characteristic  of  classical  pe 
riods,  and  as  in  itself  a  classical  form;  and 
we  have,  in  a  previous  chapter,  discussed  ex- 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM     161 

amples  of  classical  poetry  from  the  satires  of 
Pope.  Yet  it  can  be  shown  that  such  an  assump 
tion  is  due  to  a  lack  of  discrimination,  and  that 
satire  is  not  to  be  so  disposed  of  in  the  lump. 
If  we  examine  some  typical  specimens  of  satir 
ical  poetry  from  various  periods  we  shall  find 
that,  while  not  infrequently  both  content  and 
form  show  the  appropriateness  of  the  classical 
label,  a  considerably  larger  proportion  of  it  is 
more  accurately  described  as  realistic.  A  vast 
deal  of  satire  is  little  more  than  the  transcrib 
ing,  with  the  purpose  of  ridicule,  of  a  succes 
sion  of  characteristics  directly  copied  from  the 
fact.  The  presence  of  more  or  less  exaggera 
tion  does  little  to  give  classical  quality,  though 
it  lessens  the  literal  truth.  And,  at  the  risk  of 
anticipation,  it  may  be  noted  here  that  much 
satire  is  successful,  not  by  virtue  of  any  poet 
ical  quality  whatsoever,  but  from  an  exuber 
ance  of  humor  and  wit ;  and  is  thus  outside  of 
our  immediate  scope.  This  is  true,  for  exam  pie, 
of  a  great  part  of  the  comedies  of  Aristophanes. 
Some  illumination  may  be  gained  from  a 
consideration  of  so  prominent  a  figure  in  the 
history  of  English  satire  as  Ben  Jonson.  Com 
pare  for  a  moment  his  Volpone  with  his  Bar 
tholomew  Fair.  Both  are  beyond  question 


162  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

satire  ;  both  are  highly  effective.  The  former 
is  an  exposure  of  the  vice  of  greed,  and  the 
method  is  the  exhibition  of  half  a  dozen  or 
more  types  of  men,  each  with  a  well-marked 
characteristic,  which,  however,  is  mastered  by 
the  love  of  money.  The  father  of  an  only  son 
disinherits  his  child,  a  jealous  husband  risks 
the  virtue  of  his  wife,  a  fashionable  lady  en 
dangers  her  reputation,  a  lawyer  perjures  him 
self,  a  judge  would  let  justice  miscarry,  —  all 
for  financial  gain ;  while  the  Fox  himself,  the 
incarnation  of  cunning  used  to  satisfy  unscru 
pulous  greed,  dupes  them  all.  Apart  from  the 
qualities  involved  in  the  central  idea  of  the 
play,  local  and  individual  details  are  almost 
completely  absent;  the  conception  stands  out 
bold  and  clear  in  outline,  admirable  in  balance 
and  proportion,  an  ideal  example  of  the  fitting 
of  means  to  ends,  a  masterpiece  of  classical 
art,  and  at  the  same  time  a  scathing  satire  on 
human  nature. 

Bartholomew  Fair  is  a  picture  of  life  among 
the  citizens  of  London  in  Jonson's  own  time. 
The  canvas  is  crowded  with  minute  local,  tem 
poral,  and  personal  detail ;  and  the  satire  is 
mainly  on  the  hypocritical  sensuality  of  the 
Puritans  of  that  place  and  time.  Jonson  was 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM     163 

too  great  an  artist  to  leave  this  without  per 
manent  and  universal  elements :  the  vices  of 
the  Puritans  are  such  as  have  been  exempli 
fied  in  many  ages ;  the  squalor  of  the  Fair 
is  reproduced  in  such  popular  carnivals  in 
any  country.  But  the  emphasis  is  on  the 
individual  and  local  fact,  not  on  the  typical 
element ;  and  the  result  is  an  almost  unsur 
passed  Hogarthian  picture  of  a  bit  of  Eliza 
bethan  London.  It  is  a  masterpiece  of  realistic 
art,  and  again  a  scathing  satire  on  human 
nature. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  argue  further  the 
necessity  of  discriminating  in  satire  between 
the  classical  and  the  realistic.  The  criteria 
are  to  be  found  in  the  emphasis  in  classical 
satire  on  the  typical  in  content,  and  on  parsi 
mony  and  relevance  of  detail  in  form ;  in  real 
istic  satire  on  truth  to  the  individual  and  local 
in  content,  achieved  by  abundance  and  multi 
plicity  of  detail  in  form. 

When  a  student  turns  from  the  comedies 
of  Shakespeare  to  those  of  Moliere,  he  is  struck 
by  a  kind  of  thinness  in  the  French  dramatist 
which,  at  first,  contrasts  unfavorably  with  the 
superabundant  richness,  both  in  characteriza 
tion  and  in  incident,  of  the  Englishman.  But, 


164  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

after  longer  study,  he  becomes  aware  of  a 
fundamental  distinction  in  method  and  aim, 
and  sees  that  Moliere  is  seeking  to  present  a 
series  of  permanent  types  with  a  critical  pur 
pose,  and  that  these  would  be  clouded  and  ob 
scured  by  excess  of  detail;  while  Shakespeare 
is  presenting  dramatically  an  interesting  story, 
the  hold  of  which  is  increased  by  the  intimacy 
of  our  knowledge  of  the  individual  charac 
ters  or  by  their  ideal  charm.  Shakespeare's 
method  is  sometimes  romantic,  sometimes  real 
istic,  Moliere  is  a  master  of  classical  satire. 

When  we  come  to  the  great  satiric  period 
in  England,  that  of  Dryden,  Swift,  and  Pope, 
we  find  it  more  difficult  to  classify  either  men 
or  works  in  as  clear  cut  a  fashion  as  this;  for 
we  constantly  see  both  kinds  exemplified  not 
only  by  the  same  writer  in  different  poems, 
but  by  the  same  poem  in  different  passages. 
It  appears  further  that  in  excessive  realism 
lies  a  chief  danger  of  satire  regarded  as  po 
etry;  for  while  it  is  hard  to  find  an  example 
of  this  form  in  which  the  author  is  in  dan 
ger  of  losing  sight  of  the  actual,  instances 
are  abundant  where  the  literal  transcript  of 
personal  or  local  vices  and  follies  is  left 
untouched  either  by  the  imaginative  insight 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND   REALISM      165 

thai  sees  the  universal  in  the  individual,  or 
by  the  more  deliberate  process  of  rational 
generalization. 

Examples  have  already  been  quoted  from 
Pope  in  which  he  rose  above  literal  personal 
ities,  and  created  a  typical  portrait  like  that 
of  Atticus,  which  by  perfection  of  formal  ex 
pression,  as  well  as  by  the  universality  of  the 
attributes,  retains  for  posterity  its  significance 
and  interest.  But  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  cite 
those  endless  passages  crammed  with  obscure 
names  and  forgotten  allusions,  which  footnotes 
may  make  intelligible  but  which  nothing  can 
ever  again  make  interesting.  In  these  dreary 
wastes  the  river  of  poetry  is  dissipated  and 
lost  in  the  sands  of  realistic  detail. 

How  the  case  stands  with  Byron's  satire, 
some  indication  was  given  in  the  previous 
chapter.  The  Hints  from  Horace  and  English 
Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,  often  witty  and 
pungent,  are  prevailingly  individual  and  local : 
the  motive  is  personal  animus ;  no  burning 
indignation  against  vice  and  folly  in  general 
raises  him  above  pure  description  or  caricature ; 
and  his  art,  as  we  have  noted,  is  too  careless 
and  haphazard  to  attain  to  classical  form. 
Hardly  more  permanent  in  their  appeal  are 


166  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

social  satires  like  The  Waltz,  though  here 
contemporary  manners  instead  of  men  are  the 
object  of  criticism.  Even  Don  Juan,  superb 
performance  as  it  is,  owes  much  of  its  quality 
to  other  characteristics  than  those  that  make 
classical  satire;  and  when  it  becomes  poetry, 
it  usually  ceases  to  be  satirical.  As  a  satirist, 
Byron  followed  the  lead  of  his  eighteenth- 
century  masters  in  their  realism  rather  than 
in  their  classicism,  and  his  wit  rather  than  his 
generalizing  power  gives  these  verses  their 
place  in  literature. 

In  poetry  at  large,  then,  but  especially  in 
description  and  satire,  we  find  the  sense  of 
fact  an  important  and  even  essential  element, 
lending  steadiness  to  imagination  and  supply 
ing  material  to  reason ;  producing,  when  it  is  in 
predominance,  poetry  with  the  tendency  known 
as  realistic,  and  resulting,  when  it  exists  in 
isolation  or  in  excess,  in  its  own  characteristic 
kind  of  failure.  And,  lest  the  frequency  and 
flatness  of  these  failures  should  impress  us 
unfairly,  let  us  take  leave  of  realism  with  the 
recollection  that  to  this  tendency  belong  the 
triumphs  of  the  genius  of  Burns ;  and,  outside 
of  the  period  with  which  we  are  chiefly  con- 


THE  SENSE  OF  FACT  AND  REALISM     167 

cerned,  that  Chaucer,  in  those  parts  of  his 
writing  that  remain  most  vital,  has  exhibited 
in  realistic  fashion  his  delicious  humor,  and 
his  large  and  free  sympathy  with  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men. 


CHAPTER  VI 

INTENSITY   IN    POETRY       b, 


THE  literary  critics  of  the  seventeenth  cen 
tury,  especially  in  France,  were  fond  of  repre 
senting  their  poetic  theories  graphically,  by 
drawing  elaborate  allegorical  maps  of  the  land 
of  poetry.  In  such  maps  Epic,  for  example, 
might  be  represented  as  the  chief  city  of  the 
province  of  Higher  Poetry,  Burlesque  as  the 
capital  of  the  marsh  lands  of  the  Lower  Poetry, 
Satire  an  island  far  out  at  sea,  and  so  forth.  If 
for  a  moment  we  were  to  seek  to  imitate  them, 
the  view  of  poetry  here  proposed  might  be  re 
presented  by  the  figure  of  a  lofty  mountain 
with  a  great  plain  on  the  top.  Up  the  sides  of 
this  Parnassus  labor  the  would-be  poets,  com 
ing  by  the  three  main  roads  of  imagination, 
reason,  and  the  sense  of  fact.  Those  who 
have  arrived  at  the  top  are  camped  on  that 
side  of  the  plateau  next  the  road  by  which 
they  ascended,  and  the  camps  are  called  by 
the  names  Romantic,  Classic,  and  Realistic. 
There  are  other  roads  and  other  camps,  but 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  169 

BO  far  we  have  concerned  ourselves  with  only 
these  three.  The  great  leaders,  however,  are 
to  be  found,  not  in  the  heart  of  any  one  of 
these  camps,  but,  in  proportion  to  their  great 
ness,  towards  the  middle  of  the  plateau.  The 
farther  from  this  great  centre,  the  more  par 
tisan  they  become,  and  down  the  slopes  on 
each  side  and  out  on  the  plains  of  prose  one 
sees  little  figures  waving  their  party  banners 
and  shouting  their  party  cries,  far  from  the  sum 
mit  of  victory  at  whose  centre  is  a  great  peace. 

This  symbol,  however,  leaves  no  suitable 
place  for  the  representation  of  the  fourth 
great  fundamental  quality,  intensity.  And  as 
the  figure  is  useless  because  it  excludes  this, 
so  poetry  which  does  not  contain  it  is  not 
poetry,  however  well-balanced  it  may  be  in 
regard  to  the  other  qualities.  The  ingredients 
have  been  thrown  into  the  magic  caldron,  but 
the  fire  that  should  melt  and  fuse  them  has 
not  been  kindled.  So  all-important  is  the  func 
tion  of  that  quality  of  poetry  which  we  must 
now  examine. 

This  quality  is  ?:nown  by  many  names,  and 
I  have  chosen  intensity,  not  because  it  is  en 
tirely  satisfactory,  but  because  it  is,  less  than 
the  others,  blunted  and  obscured  by  vague  and 


II 

170  /  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

vJ^ 

ambiguous  usage.  It  is  what  Hazlitt  meant  by 
"  gusto,"  when  he  felt  a  work  of  art  so  thrill 
him  that  not  only  the  sense  immediately  ap 
pealed  to,  but  all  the  senses  joyously  responded 
to  the  touch.  It  is  what  Wordsworth  meant 
when  he  said  that  the  truth  of  poetry  must 
not  stand  upon  external  testimony,  but  be 
carried  alive  into  the  heart  by  passion ;  when 
he  claimed  that  a  poet  must  be  a  man  who 
rejoices  more  than  other  men  in  the  spirit 
of  life  that  is  in  him ;  when  he  called  poetry 
the  impassioned  expression  on  the  face  of  all 
science.  It  is  what  the  modern  critic  means  — 
when  he  means  anything  —  by  temperament. 
It  is  of  ten  called  merely  emotion,  or  feeling,  or 
passion,  and  in  these  forms  it  most  commonly 
manifests  itself ;  but  these  terms  are  apt  to  be 
interpreted  in  too  narrow  or  too  wide  a  sense  for 
our  purpose.  It  may  be  regarded  as  a  matter 
of  degree :  the  degree  of  vividness  with  which 
the  imaginative  conception  is  visualized,  the ' 
degree  of  clarity  with  which  the  intellect  seizes 
its  aesthetic  problem  and  selects  and  arranges 
the  essential  elements,  the  degree  of  force  and 
precision  and  fullness  with  which  the  fact  is 
perceived  and  remembered.  But  this  attach 
ment  to  each  of  the  other  elements  in  turn, 


INTENSITY   IN  POETRY  171 

and  its  apparent  modification  to  suit  the  na 
ture  of  each,  does  not  detract  from  its  funda-- 
mental  importance. 

In  one  sense,  the  consideration  of  this  ele 
ment  brings  us  closer  to  the  heart  of  the 
question  of  the  nature  of  poetry  than  any  of 
the  others.  So  far  we  have  been  chiefly  con 
cerned  with  the  poet  himself,  and  with  the 
equipment  by  means  of  which  he  achieves  his 
results.  The  terms  we  have  employed  have 
explained  qualities  of  the  poem  by  reference 
to  faculties  in  the  poet;  and  although  each  of 
these  qualities  and  faculties  appeals  to  corres 
ponding  sensibilities  in  the  reader,  this  latter 
side  of  the  problem  has  been  only  occasion 
ally  treated.  But  in  the  discussion  of  intensity, 
we  are  not  likely  to  say  much  regarding  this 
state  of  excitation  in  the  writer  which  does 
not  hold,  with  little  change,  of  the  truly  ap 
preciative  reader  of  poetry. 

A  distinguished  scholar  writing  recently  on 
poetics 1  has  described  the  appropriate  effect  of 
poetry  on  the  reader  as  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  which 
for  the  moment  carries  him  out  of  the  ordinary 
world  of  the  waking  consciousness  into  a  kind 
of  dream-world,  where  he  sojourns  with  the 
1  J.  A.  Stewart,  The  Myths  of  Plato,  Oxford,  1905,  pp.  22  ff. 


172  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

eternities,  and  where  Time  is  not.  Into  the 
metaphysical  discussion  of  the  nature  of  this 
ecstasy  the  present  writer  is  not  competent 
to  penetrate  ;  but  in  the  mere  use  of  the  word 
"  ecstasy "  we  may  find  a  recognition  of  the 
appropriate  effect  of  that  element  which  we 
have  called  intensity ;  and  the  state  is  to  be 
attributed  to  the  poet  as  well  as  to  the  reader, 
and  to  the  poet  in  an  even  higher  degree. 
\  Now,  such  a  mood  of  ecstatic  feeling  is  by  its 
nature  temporary ;  and  intensity,  viewed  as  a 
degree  of  the  other  activities  we  have  con 
sidered,  is  an  inconstant  thing,  seldom  hold 
ing  the  same  pitch  for  any  great  length  of 
time.  If,  then,  it  is  the  fundamental  and  es 
sential  quality  we  have  said,  without  which 
in  some  degree  poetry  does  not  exist,  and  with 
out  which  in  a  high  degree  poetry  cannot  be 
great  poetry,  it  would  seem  to  follow  that  no 
i  piece  of  verse  of  considerable  extent  can  be 
all  poetry.  This  is  a  familiar  and  well-recog 
nized  conclusion.  "  Whatever  specific  import," 
says  Coleridge, "  we  attach  to  the  word,  Poetry, 
there  will  be  found  involved  in  it,  as  a  neces 
sary  consequence,  that  a  poem  of  any  length 
neither  can  be,  nor  ought  to  be,  all  poetry." 
Equally  well  known  is  Poe's  attack  upon  the 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  173 

long  poem,  which  he  finds  to  be  a  contradic- ^ 
tion  in  terms.  His  reason  is  worth  quoting  at 
this  point : 

"I  need  scarcely  observe  that  a  poem  de 
serves  its  title  only  inasmuch  as  it  excites 
by  elevating  the  soul.  The  value  of  the  poem 
is  in  the  ratio  of  this  elevating  excitement. 
But  all  excitements  are,  through  a  psychal  " 
necessity,  transient.  That  degree  of  excite 
ment  which  would  entitle  a  poem  to  be  so 
called  at  all,  cannot  be  sustained  through  a 
composition  of  any  great  length.  After  the 
lapse  of  half  an  hour,  at  the  very  utmost, 
it  flags  —  fails  —  a  revulsion  ensues  —  and 
then  the  poem  is,  in  effect,  and  in  fact,  no 
longer  such."1 

His  phrase,  "  elevating  excitement  of  the 
soul/'  by  which  he  defines  "  the  manifestation 
of  the  Poetic  Principle," we  thankfully  receive 
as  a  corroboration  of  our  view  of  the  function 
of  intensity.  His  main  inference,  while  con 
taining  much  truth,  needs  some  modification. 
The  ecstasy  of  which  we  have  spoken  is  the 
culmination  of  a  state  of  elevation  and  ex 
hilaration,  but  in  itself  it  is  little  more  than 
momentary.  It  is  no  more  capable  of  being 

1  Foe,  The  Poetic  Principle,  p.  1. 


174  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

protracted  over  the  half -hour  which  Poe  allows 
than  over  half  a  day.  If  it  were  to  be  held  that 
a  poem  to  be  poetical  could  only  be  coextens 
ive  with  such  a  climactic  experience,  we  should 
have  to  cut  Poe's  "  poetical "  poems  down  to 
a  stanza  or  a  line,  or  at  times  a  phrase,  or 
even  a  single  kindling  epithet.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  we  can  still  call  it  poetry  while  it 
moves  on  the  high  table-land  of  noble  exhil 
aration  from  which  the  peaks  of  ecstasy  rise, 
the  range  of  possibility  is  increased  far  beyond 
the  limit  of  half  an  hour.  And  indeed  we  know 
that  there  are  books  capable  of  sustaining  us 
at  a  surprisingly  high  pitch  of  elevated  ex 
citement  for  hours;  to  which  we  may  even 
return  after  interruption  and  find  ourselves 
almost  immediately  caught  up  again,  and 
carried  along  by  the  intensity  of  the  author's 
conception. 

II 

From  what  has  already  been  said  it  will  be 
seen  that  it  is  difficult  to  illustrate  this  quality 
of  intensity  just  as  we  have  illustrated  the 
other  elements,  since  it  manifests  itself  not 
in  isolation  or  solitary  predominance,  but  in 
and  through  one  or  more  of  the  other  quali- 


INTENSITY  IN   POETRY  175 

ties.  Yet  one  can  find  passages  which  are  such 
culminating  points  as  we  have  described,  and 
which  raise  us  to  this  point  of  ecstatic  excite 
ment,  in  which  it  seems  as  if  it  were  sheer 
intensity  rather  than  any  more  specific  quality 
that  produced  the  effect.  Take  some  of  the 
most  famous  lines  in  our  literature  as  tests. 
When  Ferdinand  in  The  Duchess  of  Malfi 
looks  upon  the  face  of  the  sister  whom  he  has, 
had  murdered,  he  says, 

Cover  her  face  :  mine  eyes  dazzle  :  she  died  young. 

These  three  sentences  are  matter-of-fact 
enough,  yet  the  effect  is  not  primarily  realistic. 
They  show  great  restraint  in  expression,  yet 
it  is  not  primarily  felt  as  a  triumph  of  classic 
form.  Superficially  considered,  they  hardly 
seem  imaginative  at  all.  This  is  because  the 
imagination  they  display  is  not  in  the  speaker 
but  in  the  dramatist,  who  gives  us  in  a  flash 
an  awful  glimpse  into  the  soul  of  the  criminal 
at  the  very  moment  when  remorse  sets  in.  The 
imagination  is  here  the  chief  (but  not  the  only) 
medium  by  which  is  brought  about  that  in 
tense  realization  of  the  situation  and  its  at 
tendant  emotion  that  thrills  us  with  horror. 

In  the  same  play,  a  similar  power  of  bring- 


176  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

ing  the  excitement  to  a  climax  without  any 
apparent  rhetorical  devices  is  seen  in  the  half- 
mad  heroine's  retort  to  her  tormentors  —  "I 
am  Duchess  of  Main"  still."  The  Elizabethan 
drama  is  thick-set  with  such  electric  utterances. 
Lady  Macbeth's 

Yet  who  would  have  thought  the  old  man  to  have  had  so 
much  blood  in  him  ? 

Lear's  five-fold  "  Never,"  Antony's  "  I  am  dy 
ing,  Egypt,  dying,"  are  Shakespearean  ex 
amples  ;  and  the  whole  last  scene  of  Othello, 
from  the  Moor's  soliloquy,  beginning, 

It  is  the  cause,  it  is  the  cause,  my  soul, 

to  "  the  bloody  period,"  rises  again  and  again 
to  these  utterances  at  white  heat. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  quality 
of  intensity  is  displayed  only  in  scenes  of  tur 
bulent  passion  and  in  tragic  catastrophes.  It 
is  found  in  the  vivid  realization  of  any  mood, 
pathetic  or  humorous,  energetic  or  placid,  as 
well  as  harrowing.  We  have  it  in  the  calm 
utterance  of  the  resignation  of  Manoa,  in  Mil 
ton's  tragedy,  after  the  death  of  Samson  : 

Nothing  is  here  for  tears,  nothing  to  wail 
Or  knock  the  breast,  no  weakness,  no  contempt, 
Dispraise,  or  blame,  nothing  but  well  and  fair, 
And  what  may  quiet  us  in  a  death  so  noble. 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  177 

We  have  it  again  in  the  imaginative  wistf  ulness 
of  Wordsworth's 

Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings  ?  — 
Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 
For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things, 
And  battles  long  ago  : 

and  even  in  the  same  poet's  desolate  line  in 
Michael, 

And  never  lifted  up  a  single  stone. 

It  is  equally  there  in  the  bacchanalian  zest  of 
Burns's  chorus : 

We  are  na  fou,  we  're  nae  that  fou, 

But  just  a  drappie  in  our  e'e  ! 
The  cock  may  craw,  the  day  may  daw, 

And  ay  we  '11  taste  the  barley-bree  ! 

It  is  in  the  languor  of  the  Lotos^Eaters 

Resting  weary  limbs  at  last  on  beds  of  asphodel, 

as  well  as  in  the  strenuousness  of   Ulysses* 
who 

Drunk  delight  of  battle  with  his  peers, 
Far  on  the  ringing  plains  of  windy  Troy. 

Ill 

It  is  not  without  significance  that  in  most 
of  the  instances  quoted,  the  intensity  which  is 
exhibited  is  an  imaginative  intensity.  The  ex 
amples  were  not  chosen  with  this  in  view,  but 
have  been  given  as  they  came  to  mind.  But 


178  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

of  our  three  fundamental  qualities,  it  is  clearly 
imagination  that  most  readily  kindles  emotion, 
as  emotion  in  turn  awakens  imagination.  It  is 
on  this  account  that  romantic  poetry  offers 
most  freely  examples  of  intensity,  and  that 
there  exists  a  common  impression  that  Roman 
ticism  is  mainly  characterized  by  an  abundant 
display  of  feeling.  But,  as  has  already  been 
pointed  out,  not  all  feeling  is  poetic  feeling, 
and  both  persons  and  words  may  overflow 
with  emotion  without  being  in  any  notable  de° 
gree  poetic.  The  feeling,  as  we  have  tried  to 
show,  must  be  attached  to  those  other  elements 
so  often  enumerated,  roused  by  them  and  rous 
ing  them  in  turn.  This  is  the  distinction  Poe 
had  in  mind  when  he  called  the  poetic  princi 
ple  " an  elevating  excitement  of  the  soul"  in, 
contradistinction  to  mere  "passion,  which  is 
the  excitement  of  the  heart"  On  the  other 
hand,  intensity  must  be  capable  of  illustration  v 
in  classical  and  realistic  poetry  as  well  as  ro 
mantic,  if  our  view  of  its  essential  nature  be 
correct.  But  we  must  not  expect  it  to  ap 
pear  in  precisely  the  same  way,  since  it  will 
be  modified  by  the  predominant  quality  with 
which  it  is  associated.  In  classical  art,  it  will 
naturally  be  less  exuberant,  more  restrained, 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  179 

but  not  of  necessity  weaker.  The  passages  al 
ready  cited  from  Samson  Agonistes  illustrate 
this  point,  and  that  poem  contains  many  more. 
Paradise  Lost  opens  with  the  conventional 
invocation  of  the  classical  epic,  yet  the  first 
paragraph  rises  by  this  quality  of  intensity  to 
a  splendid  poetical  pitch  : 

And  chiefly  Thou,  O  Spirit !  that  dost  prefer 
Before  all  temples  th'  upright  heart  and  pure, 
Instruct  me,  for  Thou  know'st ;  Thou  from  the  first 
Wast  present,  and  with  mighty  wings  outspread 
Dove-like  sat'st  brooding  on  the  vast  abyss 
And  mad 'at  it  pregnant:  what  in  me  is  dark 
Illumine,  what  is  low  raise  and  support ; 
That  to  the  highth  of  this  great  argument 
I  may  assert  Eternal  Providence, 
And  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  men. 

Here  at  once  the  poet's  exhilaration  with  the 
prospect  of  his  colossal  task  and  with  his  su 
perb  confidence  in  his  power  to  accomplish  it 
by  the  Divine  aid,  seizes  the  reader  also,  and 
"  rouses,  frees,  dilates  "  as  no  verse  without  in 
tensity  can  do.  And  throughout  the  twelve 
long  books  of  the  epic,  while  the  flagging  of 
the  attention  that  most  readers  confess  to 
is  at  times  due  to  the  reasoning  and  abstract 
element  attaining  an  excessive  predominance 
over  the  other  elements,  it  is,  perhaps,  oftener 
due  to  a  letting  down  of  the  "  elevating  ex- 


180  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

citement  of  the  soul,"  a  relaxing  in  the  poet's 
own  mood  of  the  intensity  which  ever  and 
anon  blazes  up  again,  and  is  as  evident  as  any 
where  in  the  restrained  but  profoundly  mov 
ing  close: 

The  world  was  all  before  them,  where  to  choose 
Their  place  of  rest,  and  Providence  their  guide  : 
They  hand  in  hand  with  wand'ring  steps  and  slow, 
Through  Eden  took  their  solitary  way. 

A  still  more  illuminating  instance  is  to  be 
found  in  the  same  poet's  Lycidas.  This  elegy, 
despite  the  fact  of  its  depreciation  by  the  neo 
classical  critics  of  the  eighteenth  century,  is 
an  admirable  example  of  truly  classical  art,  in 
its  structure  and  technic,  and  in  its  restraint, 
as  well  as  in  its  reverence  for  traditional  form. 
The  two  most  vital  passages  in  the  poem,  how 
ever,  are  digressions:  one  on  fame,  the  other 
on  the  degradation  of  the  English  Church ; 
and  in  spite  of  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the 
flower  passage,  and  the  unsurpassed  skill  in 
rhythm  which  the  elegy  exhibits  throughout, 
these  digressions  rise  by  virtue  of  their  greater 
intensity  to  another  level,  and  seize  the  reader 
with  a  far  firmer  grasp. 

One  more  example  in  poetry  of  a  classical 
type  may  be  given.  Arnold's  Sohrab  and  JRus- 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  181 

turn  is  a  somewhat  deliberate  imitation  of  Ho 
meric  narrative;  and  however  far  short  of  its 
model  it  may  fall  in  point  of  spontaneity,  it 
must  be  granted  that  it  possesses  no  small  degree 
of  classical  beauty.  The  passages  in  this  poem 
which  move  one  most  and  cling  to  the  memory 
longest  are  not  the  crises  of  the  action,  the  duel 
of  the  heroes  or  the  dramatic  scene  of  recog 
nition,  for  Arnold's  temperament  was  not  such 
as  to  be  really  awakened  by  these  things  ;  but 
the  occasional  pictures  of  quiet  beauty  occur 
ring,  often  in  similes,  throughout  the  poem, 
and  especially  exemplified  by  the  landscape  afc 
the  close : 

But  the  majestic  river  floated  on, 
Out  of  the  mist  and  hum  of  that  low  land, 
Into  the  frosty  starlight,  and  there  moved, 
Rejoicing,  through  the  hush'd  Chorasmian  waste, 
Under  the  solitary  moon  ;  —  he  flow'd 
Right  for  the  polar  star,  past  Orgunje, 
Brimming,  and  bright,  and  large  ;  then  sands  begii 
To  hem  his  watery  march,  and  dam  his  streams, 
And  split  his  currents  ;  that  for  many  a  league 
The  shorn  and  parcell'd  Oxus  strains  along 
Through  beds  of  sand  and  matted  rushy  isles  — 
Oxus,  forgetting  the  bright  speed  he  had, 
In  his  high  mountain-cradle  in  Pamere, 
A  f oil'd  circuitous  wanderer  —  till  at  last 
The  long'd-for  dash  of  waves  is  heard,  and  wide 
His  luminous  home  of  waters  opens,  bright 
And  tranquil,  from  whose  floor  the  new-bathed  start 
Emerge,  and  shine  upon  the  Aral  Sea. 


182  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

These  lines  with  their  exquisite  and  appro 
priate  movement  suffer  no  disturbance  to  their 
form  from  the  feeling  which  they  convey,  yet 
to  the  poet,  as  to  the  sympathic  reader,  one 
is  sure  that  they  brought  a  quickening  of  the 
pulse  that  indicated  a  more  intense  realization 
of  his  creation  than  the  clash  of  arms  in  the 
formal  climax  of  the  action. 

So  much  for  intensity  in  poetry  of  the  class 
ical  type.  We  have  examined  enough  to  as 
sure  us  that  here,  though  less  readily  and  less 
palpably  than  in  romantic  poetry,  it  reaches 
the  point  of  producing  the  fine  ecstasy  accord 
ing  as  it  possesses  intensity.  These  illustrations 
have  not  been  drawn  from  the  neo-classic 
period;  but  the  passage  on  Atticus  already 
quoted  from  Pope  will  serve  to  remind  us  that 
in  him  also  intensity  was  by  no  means  lacking. 
In  fact  intensity,  especially  in  the  satire  of 
Pope,  is  more  common  than  poetry,  because  of 
a  scarcity  of  certain  qualities  which  has  been 
already  remarked;  for  spite,  however  intense, 
will  hardly  give  us  poetry  if  it  is  accompanied 
merely  by  brilliant  technical  skill.  Yet  the 
Augustans  sometimes  put  soul  into  their 
very  technic  :  clearness  and  polish  were  them 
selves  in  some  sort  an  ideal,  and  they,  like 


INTENSITi    IN  POETRY  183 

stylists  in  other  days,  contended  "  for  the  shade 
of  a  word  "  with  a  zeal  which  went  far  to  lift 
from  them  the  reproach  of  being  mere  laborers 
with  the  file.  No  one  has  appreciated  what 
ihey  accomplished  in  this  way  better  than  Mr 
Austin  Dobson,  and  this  part  of  the  discussion 
may  well  close  with  some  lines  from  his  Dia 
logue  to  the  Memory  of  Mr.  Alexander  Pope, 
which  themselves  exemplify  what  they  praise: 

Suppose  you  say  your  Worst  of  Pope,  declare 
His  Jewels  Paste,  his  Nature  a  Parterre, 
His  Art  but  Artifice  —  I  ask  once  more 
Where  have  you  seen  such  Artifice  before  ? 
Where  have  you  seen  a  Parterre  better  grac'd, 
Or  gems  that  glitter  like  his  Gems  of  Paste  ? 
Where  can  you  show,  among  your  Names  of  Note, 
So  much  to  copy  and  so  much  to  quote  ? 
And  where,  in  fine,  in  all  our  English  Verse, 
A  Style  more  trenchant  and  a  Sense  more  terse  ? 

So  I,  that  love  the  old  Augustan  Days 
Of  formal  Courtesies  and  formal  Phrase  ; 
That  like  along  the  finish'd  Line  to  feel 
The  Ruffle's  Flutter  and  the  Flash  of  Steel ; 
That  like  my  Couplet  as  compact  as  clear ; 
That  like  my  Satire  sparkling  tho'  severe, 
Unmix'd  with  Bathos  and  unmarr'd  by  Trope, 
I  fling  my  Cap  for  Polish  —  and  for  Pope! 

Here  the  modern  imitator  rises  from  par 
ody  to  poetry — because  his  theme  mattered 
to  him  so  much. 


184  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

IV 

In  the  domain  of  realistic  poetry  we  might 
again  illustrate  the  presence  of  intensity  by 
the  examples  of  successful  realism  quoted  in  a 
previous  chapter.  Others  are  easily  called  to 
mind.  In  the  field  of  satire,  which  I  have  just 
touched,  one  can  see  that  the  intensity  of 
antipathy  often  serves  to  raise  what  would 
otherwise  be  a  prosaic  expression  of  dislike  or 
disgust  to  a  point  where  the  warmth  becomes 
contagious,  and  the  reader  also  is  fired  by  in 
dignation.  In  descriptive  poetry,  the  intensity 
seems  to  spring  from  the  incisiveness  and  pro 
fundity  of  the  impression  made  on  the  poet's 
senses  ;  and,  on  the  reader's  side,  to  depend  on 
the  transference  to  him,  through  vivid  expres 
sion,  of  an  image  characterized  by  the  same 
qualities.  Note  these  two  stanzas  from  Words 
worth  : 

There  was  a  roaring  in  the  wind  all  night ; 
The  rain  came  heavily  and  fell  in  floods  ; 
But  now  the  sun  is  rising  calm  and  bright ; 
The  birds  are  singing  in  the  distant  woods ; 
Over  his  own  sweet  voice  the  Stock-dove  broods ; 
The  Jay  makes  answer  as  the  Magpie  chatters  ; 
And  all  the  air  is  filled  with  pleasant  noise  of  waters. 

All  things  that  love  the  sun  are  out  of  doors  ; 
The  sky  rejoices  in  the  morning's  birth  ; 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  185 

The  grass  is  bright  with  rain-drops  ;  —  on  the  moora 

The  hare  is  running  races  in  her  mirth  ; 

And  with  her  feet  she  from  the  plashy  earth 

Raises  a  mist ;  that,  glittering  in  the  sun, 

Runs  with  her  all  the  way,  wherever  she  doth  run. 

With  the  exception  of  one  line  these  stanzas 
are  a  series  of  almost  literal  observations  of 
natural  phenomena.  They  combine  to  give 
a  general  impression  of  the  atmosphere  of 
freshness  and  clarity  on  a  bright  morning 
after  rain;  but  this  general  impression  also 
is  the  outcome  of  faithful  observation.  Yet 
the  passage  is  far  from  a  mere  list :  it  moves 
us  as  no  mere  list  of  facts  could  possibly  do, 
because  it  contains,  in  addition  to  its  literal 
truth,  the  element  of  intensity. 

A  different  aspect  of  nature  is  no  less  viv 
idly  presented  to  us  in  the  opening  lines  of 
The  Eve  of  St.  Agnes  : 

St.  Agnes'  Eve  —  Ah,  bitter  chill  it  was  ! 
The  owl,  for  all  his  feathers,  was  a-cold ; 
The  hare  limp'd  trembling  through  the  frozen  grass, 
And  silent  was  the  flock  in  woolly  fold  : 
Numb  were  the  Beadsman's  fingers,  while  he  told 
His  rosary,  and  while  his  frosted  breath, 
Like  pious  incense  from  a  censer  old, 
Seem'd  taking  flight  for  heaven,  without  a  death, 
Past  the  sweet  Virgin's  picture,  while  his  prayer  he  saith. 

The  attack  upon  our  senses  in  these  lines  is 
so  violent  that  it  is  hard  to  read  them  without 


186  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

shivering,  and  this  is  made  possible  by  the 
energy  of  the  poet's  realization  of  the  physical 
facts  which  he  enumerates.  The  presence  of 
this  passage  at  the  beginning  of  a  highly  ro 
mantic  narrative  reminds  us  of  how  a  poet  like 
Keats  can  make  his  sense  of  fact  subserve  his 
imagination ;  for  it  is  through  his  unsur 
passed  power  of  combining  these  two  elements, 
without  diminution  of  the  intensity  of  either, 
that  he  conveys  into  this  romantic  poem  that 
powerful  sensuous  element  which  gives  it 
warmth  and  life  and  interest,  in  spite  of  the 
unreality  of  the  tale  which  appears  when  it  is 
coldly  regarded  by  the  critical  judgment. 

But  it  is  not  only  in  scenes  of  natural  beauty 
or  in  the  producing  of  exquisite  sensation  that 
intensity  in  realistic  description  is  to  be  found. 
Perhaps  the  most  amazing  instance  in  our  lit 
erature  is  in  Burns's  Jolly  Beggars,  a  poem 
whose  subject  is  a  picture  of  the  most  degraded 
class  of  human  beings,  engaged  in  a  debauch 
of  drunkenness  and  the  foulest  sensual  indul 
gence.  Take  one  stanza : 

First,  neist  the  fire,  in  auld  red  rags 
Ane  sat,  weel  brac'd  wi'  mealy  bags 

And  knapsack  a'  in  order ; 
His  doxy  lay  within  his  arm ; 


INTENSITY  IN   POETRY  187 

Wi'  usquebae  an'  blankets  warm 

She  blinket  on  her  sodger. 
An'  aye  he  gies  the  touzie  drab 

The  tither  skelpin  kiss, 
While  she  held  up  her  greedy  gab, 
Just  like  an  aumous  dish  ; 
Ilk  smack  still  did  crack  still, 

Like  onie  cadger's  whup  ; 
Then  swaggering  an*  staggering 
He  roar'd  this  ditty  up.  — 

Something  of  the  squalor  and  sordidness  of  the 
scene  may  be  gathered  from  this  short  speci 
men  :  enough  to  remind  us  that  whatever  exhil 
arating  effect  it  may  have  on  us  is  not  attained 
by  the  suppression  of  any  detail,  however 
noisome.  But  an  extract  cannot  convey  the 
astounding  effect  of  the  piece  as  a  whole,  its 
boisterous  hilarity,  its  prodigious  vitality,  its 
expression  of  the  sheer  joy  of  life  (all  the  more 
wonderful  because  the  life  seems  to  us  of  such 
unmitigated  ugliness),  its  triumph  of  spirit  over 
matter,  —  very  high  spirits  over  very  dirty 
matter.  The  difference  between  the  rousing 
effect  of  Burns's  cantata,  and  the  depression 
that  would  weigh  us  down  on  reading  the  de 
scription  of  a  similar  scene  by  a  French  or 
Russian  realist,1  lies  not  in  any  less  degree 
of  faithfulness  to  the  fact  on  the  part  of  the 

1  Compare,  for  example,  Gorky's  Night  Asylum. 


188  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Scottish  poet,  but  in  his  greater  insight  and 
sympathy,  in  his  penetrating  beyond  the  ex 
ternal  fact  to  the  hearts  of  those  people,  and, 
in  defiance  of  morals  and  convention,  telling 
the  whole  truth.  And  this  revelation  is  made 
possible  by  the  intensity  of  his  vision. 

There  is  a  further  element  to  be  noted  in 
considering  the  causes  of  the  thrill  which  the 
reader  receives  from  the  faithful  record  of 
/  vivid  impressions,  the  element  of  recognition. 
To  know  that  another  has  observed  a  detail 
in  inanimate  or  human  nature  which  we  had 
noted  for  ourselves,  to  have  brought  into  the 
foreground  of  our  consciousness  a  phenomenon 
which  we  had  been  only  half  aware  of  before, 
to  have  this  half-conscious  impression  stamped 
clearly  by  the  incisive  epithet  or  the  apt  simile, 
to  have  an  old  recollection  freshened  into  a 
living  possession,  —  all  these  things  belong  to 
the  pleasures  afforded  by  realistic  intensity. 
One  cannot  do  better  in  treating  this  natural 
zest  in  accurate  observation  and  clean-cut  de 
scription  than  recall  the  familiar  passage  in 
our  literature  which  illustrates  this  point.  In 
the  famous  fourth  chapter  of  Cranford,  Mr. 
Holbrook  "  walked  before  me,  with  a  stooping 
gait,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him;  and,  as 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  189 

some  tree  or  cloud,  or  glimpse  of  distant  up 
land  pastures,  struck  him,  he  quoted  poetry  to 
himself,  saying  it  out  loud  in  a  grand,  sonor 
ous  voice,  with  just  the  emphasis  that  true 
feeling  and  appreciation  give.  We  came  upon 
an  old  cedar-tree,  which  stood  at  one  end  of 
the  house  — 

*  The  cedar  spreads  his  dark-green  layers  of  shade/ 

'  Capital  term  —  layers  !  —  Wonderful  man  ! 
.  .  .  Why,  when  I  saw  the  review  of  his  poems 
in  Blackwood,  I  set  off  within  an  hour,  and 
walked  seven  miles  to  Misselton  (for  the  horses 
were  not  in  the  way)  and  ordered  them.  Now, 
what  colour  are  ash-buds  in  March  ? ' 

"  Is  the  man  going  mad  ?  thought  I.  He  is 
very  like  Don  Quixote.  ( What  colour  are  they, 
I  say  ? '  repeated  he  vehemently.  ( I  am  sure 
I  don't  know,  sir,'  said  I,  with  the  meekness 
of  ignorance. 

"(I  knew  you  didn't.  No  more  did  I — an 
old  fool  that  I  am ! — till  this  young  man  comes 
and  tells  me.  Black  as  ash-buds  in  March. 
And  I  've  lived  all  my  life  in  the  country ; 
more  shame  for  me  not  to  know.  Black :  they 
are  jet-black,  madam.' ' 

Mr.  Holbrook's  appreciative  criticism  helps 
us  to  realize  to  how  large  an  extent  the  promise 


190  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

of  the  early  work  of  Tennyson  lay  in  the  evi 
dence  it  gave  of  his  keen  delight  in  the  observ 
ation  of  nature,  and  in  the  vividness  and 
faithfulness  of  the  language  in  which  he  re 
corded  its  appearances. 


I  suppose  that  no  general  treatment  of  the 
subject  of  poetry  in  recent  times  has  had  so 
powerful  an  influence  as  Matthew  Arnold's 
essay  on  the  Study  of  Poetry.  I  am  far  from 
wishing  to  depreciate  this  admirable  and  per 
suasive  document :  its  position  in  English  crit 
icism  is  assured.  But  many  discerning  readers 
have  found  it  in  some  respects  less  than  com 
pletely  satisfactory,  and  an  examination  of  it 
at  this  point  will  perhaps  enable  us  to  see  the 
cause  of  some  of  its  defects,  will  afford  a  check 
to  our  own  speculations,  and  will,  perhaps,  con 
firm  us  in  our  view  of  the  place  to  be  given 
to  the  quality  under  discussion  in  the  present 
chapter. 

Arnold,  it  is  true,  deprecates  our  present 
task  altogether.  "Critics,"  he  says,  "give 
themselves  great  labor  to  draw  out  what  in 
the  abstract  constitutes  the  characters  of  a 
high  quality  of  poetry.  It  is  much  better  simply 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  191 

to  have  recourse  to  concrete  examples."  And 
exquisitely  chosen  examples  he  accordingly 
gives;  but  he  proceeds  nevertheless  to  the 
drawing  out  of  abstract  characteristics.  In  his 
famous  definition  of  poetry  "as  a  criticism  of 
life  under  the  conditions  fixed  for  such  a  crit 
icism  by  the  laws  of  poetic  truth  and  poetic 
beauty,"  and  in  the  elaboration  of  this  defini 
tion  in  subsequent  paragraphs,  we  find  without 
difficulty  elements  corresponding  to  some  of 
those  which  we  have  discussed.  In  his  "truth 
in  matter  and  substance"  and  "superiority 
in  style  and  manner,"  we  recognize  at  once  the 
qualities  we  have  noted  as  characterizing  the 
realistic  and  classical  tendencies  respectively. 
But  when  we  search  for  a  recognition  of  the 
imaginative  element,  we  have  to  be  content  to 
find  it  implied  in  the  adjective  poetic  in  such 
phrases  as  "high  poetic  truth  of  style,"  "po 
etic  truth  of  substance."  This  absence  of  the 
explicit  acknowledgment  of  imagination  as 
an  essential  element,  this  begging  of  the  ques 
tion  by  including  the  term  poetic  in  a  defini 
tion  of  poetry,  is  a  main  flaw  in  his  whole 
discussion. 

A  difficulty  that  has  impressed  readers  still 
more  lies  in  his  decision   that  Chaucer  and 


192  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Burns  are  not  among  the  great  classics,  the 
word  "  classic "  being  here  used,  of  course, 
without  reference  to  a  particular  tendency, 
but  merely  as  "  belonging  to  the  class  of  the 
best"  —  a  class  to  which  he  admits  the  poet 
Gray.  If  this  class  had  been  confined  to  the 
four  poets  from  whom  he  quotes  his  touch 
stones,  Homer,  Dante,  Shakespeare,  and  Mil 
ton,  we  might  be  inclined  to  agree,  though  not 
necessarily  for  his  reasons ;  but  when  the  gates 
are  opened  to  Gray,  and  for  a  moment  to 
Villon,  and  shut  not  only  upon  Dry  den  and 
Pope,  but  upon  Chaucer  and  Burns,  we  are 
moved  to  protest. 

The  explanation  of  this  peculiar  judgment 
is  to  be  found  in  the  importance  attached  by 
Arnold  to  the  quality  which,  following  Aris 
totle,  he  calls  "high  seriousness."  This,  it 
seems,  is  the  final  criterion  of  a  great  poet. 
One  might  suggest  it  as  a  more  fit  criterion 
for  a  great  divine.  We  have  nothing  against 
"high  seriousness"  as  a  quality  in  itself:  the 
difficulty  is  that  there  is  in  it  nothing  that  has 
to  do  particularly  with  poetry  as  such.  One 
could  argue  that  both  Chaucer  and  Burns 
could  be  shown  not  to  be  so  devoid  of  this 
quality  as  Arnold  assumes.  Take  Arnold's  own 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  193 

method  of  proof  by  fragments  and  consider 
two  lines  already  quoted  from  Burns: 

The  wan  Moon  is  setting  behind  the  white  wave, 
And  Time  is  setting  with  me,  oh  ! 

or  the  great  passage  from  Chaucer's  Pardon 
er's  Tale,  spoken  by  the  old  man  who  cannot 
die: 

This  olde  man  gan  looke  in  his  visage, 

And  seyde  thus  :  "  For  I  ne  kan  nat  fynde 

A  man,  though  that  I  walked  into  Inde, 

Neither  in  citee,  ne  in  no  village, 

That  wolde  chaunge  his  youthe  for  myn  age; 

And  therfor  moot  I  han  myn  age  stille, 

As  longe  tyme  as  it  is  Goddes  wille. 

Ne  Deeth,  alias !  ne  wol  nat  han  my  lyf ; 

Thus  walke  I,  lyk  a  restelees  kaityf, 

And  on  the  ground,  which  is  my  moodres  gate, 

I  knokke  with  my  staf,  erly  and  late, 

And  seye,  '  Leeve  Mooder,  leet  me  in  ! ' " 

But  this  is  aside  from  our  point.  The  ele 
ment  for  which  Arnold  was  groping  when  he 
seized  on  the  cnrovSij  of  Aristotle  was  not  seri 
ousness  but  intensity.  All  his  test  passages 
exhibit  this  quality,  and  in  such  an  instance 
as  the  fragment  of  sleep  from  Henry  IV, 

Wilt  thou  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast 

Seal  up  the  ship-boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 

In  cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  surge  — 

the  intensity  of  the  imaginative  conception, 
still  further  heightened  by  the  swelling  splen- 


194  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

dor  of  the  rhythm,  is  much  more  notable,  and 
much  more  contributory  to  the  poetic  effect, 
than  the  seriousness.  A  substitution  of  this 
element  would  resolve  also  incidental  difficul 
ties  like  that  raised  when  Arnold  praises  The 
Jolly  Beggars  as  a  "splendid  and  puissant 
production,"  but,  because  it  has  not  high  seri 
ousness,  has,  presumably,  to  exclude  it  from 
great  poetry.  It  would  have  enabled  him,  too, 
to  appreciate  at  its  true  value  such  an  expres 
sion  of  the  joy  of  living  as  Chaucer  puts  into 
the  mouth  of  the  Wife  of  Bath : 

But,  Lord  Crist !  whan  that  it  remeinbreth  me 
Upon  my  youthe,  and  on  my  jolitee, 
It  tikleth  me  aboute  myn  herte  roote  ! 
Unto  this  day  it  dooth  myn  herte  boote 
That  I  have  had  my  world,  as  in  my  tyme. 
But  Age,  alias  !  that  al  wole  envenyme, 
Hath  me  biraf t  my  beautee  and  my  pith,  — 
Lat  go,  fare  wel,  the  devel  go  therwith  ! 
The  flour  is  goon,  there  is  namoore  to  telle, 
The  bren,  as  I  best  kan,  now  moste  I  selle  ; 
But  yet  to  be  right  myrie  wol  I  fonde 
Now  wol  I  tellen  of  my  fourthe  housbonde. 

(Prologue  of  the  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale,  469-480.) 

The  positive  quality  of  such  a  passage  as 
this,  its  vividness,  its  zest,  its  penetration  to 
the  very  marrow  of  life,  and  the  informing  of 
every  phrase  and  accent  with  vital  energy, 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  195 

have  much  more  to  do  with  the  production  of 
a  highly  exalted  poetic  enjoyment  than  serious 
ness  of  treatment  or  theme. 

But  this  term  led  the  critic  astray  in  his  in 
clusions  as  well  as  his  exclusions.  Thomas  Gray 
is  a  justly  honored  name  in  the  annals  of  Eng 
lish  literature,  and  he  has  contributed  at  least 
one  poem  to  the  permanent  body  of  household 
poetry.  An  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard 
is  an  exquisite  versifying  of  thoughts  about 
human  life  and  destiny  that  are  within  the 
reach  of  every  one's  understanding,  and  are 
corroborated  by  every  one's  experience.  It  is 
sufficiently  concrete,  has  sufficient  touch  with 
reality  on  the  one  hand,  and  it  soars  gently 
on  the  wings  of  a  not  too  daring  imagination 
on  the  other,  to  give  it  balance ;  but  its  pre 
eminent  qualities  are  those  of  fitness  and  beauty 
of  form.  In  spite  of  the  pervading  mild  mel 
ancholy  of  its  atmosphere,  it  is  not  highly 
subjective  ;  it  is  a  sound  piece  of  classical  art. 
It  stands  out  in  its  period,  not  because  its  class 
icism  is  overshadowed  by  romantic  elements, 
but  because  it  has  enough  imagination  to  make 
it  better  balanced  than  the  mass  of  the  verse 
of  the  mid-eighteenth  century,  not  enough  to 
tip  the  scale  on  the  romantic  side.  Yet,  with 


196  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

all  its  ac^irable  qualities,  the  Elegy  is  a  little, 
not  a  great,  masterpiece,  and  Gray  only  a  little 
master,  not  in  the  class  of  Shakespeare  and 
Chaucer  and  Burns.  He  was  too  much  lack 
ing  in  temperament,  in  vital  energy,  to  give 
that  high  degree  of  intensity  needed  for  really 
great  poetry ;  and  this  Arnold  himself  uncon 
sciously  recognizes  when  he  uses,  as  the  refrain 
of  his  sympathetic  essay  on  Gray,  the  words, 
"  He  never  spoke  out." 

This  consideration  of  Gray  suggests  a  clue 
to  some  other  puzzling  judgments  in  current 
criticism.  When  one  returns  to  the  poetry  of 
Landor,  and  notes  the  exquisite  truth  of  his 
observation,  the  charm  of  his  imagination,  the 
classical  beauty  of  his  form,  one  is  often 
tempted  to  claim  for  him  a  place  almost  with 
the  greatest  masters.  Yet  he  remains  in  the 
background,  more  ignored  by  the  general 
reader,  except  for  a  few  pieces  in  the  anthol 
ogies,  than  any  man  near  him  in  rank.  And 
reflection  shows  that  this  is  not  without  cause. 
In  spite  of  the  fieriness  of  Lan dor's  temper  in 
social  relations,  of  the  almost  tremendous  in 
tensity  of  his  pride,  his  scorn,  his  courage, 
and  his  sensitiveness  as  a  man,  he  somehow 
fails  to  project  this  intensity  into  his  writings. 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  197 

It  is  there  at  times  in  a  high  degree,  as  in 
Rose  Aylmer  ;  it  is  there  usually  in  some  de 
gree  ;  but  in  the  great  mass  of  his  work  it  ap 
pears  in  only  a  comparatively  low  degree,  with 
a  resultant  weakness  in  the  hold  which  it  takes 
upon  the  reader.  He  is  often  coldly  beauti 
ful;  he  forces  us  to  admire  his  clear  images, 
his  noble  and  delicate  cadences  ;  only  occa 
sionally  does  he  kindle  us  to  exhilaration,  al 
most  never  does  he  reach  the  white  heat  of 
ecstasy.  Even  his  beautiful  Hellenics  have  the 
limitation  that  leads  Symons  to  compare  them 
to  exquisite  reliefs,  not  to  statues  in  the 
round. 

VI 

In  conclusion,  we  may  note  shortly  the  con 
nection  between  intensity  and  rhythm.  The 
tendency  of  human  speech  under  the  influence 
of  high  emotion  to  fall  into  rhythmical  cadence 
has  been  often  remarked,  and  students  of  the 
origin  of  metre  have  not  failed  to  take  account 
of  this  tendency  as  bearing  on  their  problem. 
On  the  other  side,  every  reader  can  bear  wit 
ness  to  the  effect  of  rhythm  in  reinforcing  the 
moving  effect  of  the  content  of  literature. 
Here,  as  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  present  dis- 


198  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

cussion,  then,  it  seems  unnecessary  to  treat 
separately  the  two  points  of  view  of  writer  and 
reader,  since  in  the  matter  of  feeling  in  poetry 
the  difference  is  usually  in  degree  rather  than 
in  kind.  Certainly  it  seems  true  of  both,  that, 
in  the  expression  of  poetic  ideas,  metre  is  an 
intensify  ing  medium  of  the  highest  importance. 
Its  effect  is  most  obvious  in  the  cases  where 
it  is  simply  imitative  of  the  sound  or  the  action 
described  by  the  words ;  and  here  it  may  al 
most  equal  the  words  in  its  share  in  producing 
the  impression.  In  such  a  poem  as  that  of 
Browning's  beginning, 

I  sprang  to  the  stirrup,  aiid  Joris,  and  he ; 

I  galloped,  Dirck  galloped,  we  galloped  all  three  — 

we  come  close  to  the  actual  reproduction  of 
the  sound,  and  really  reach  the  reproduction  of 
the  tempo.  The  degree  to  which  we  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  this  wild  ride  is  clearly  due  in 
great  measure  to  this  all  but  actual  hearing 
of  the  clatter  of  hoofs.  Only  slightly  less  self- 
evident  are  the  cases  where  the  effect  of  the 
rhythm  is  suggestive  rather  than  imitative ; 
and  there  are  many  cases  where  the  line  be 
tween  these  is  hard  to  draw.  This  is  so  in  Ten- 

• 

nyson's  Bugle  Song: 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  199 

The  splendour  falls  on  castle  walls 
And  snowy  summits  old  in  story  ; 
The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory  ; 
Blow  bugle,  blow,  set  the  wild  echoes  flying, 
Biow,  bugle  ;  answer,  echoes,  dying,  dying,  dying. 

The  imitative  element  here  is,  of  course,  not 
confined  to  the  metre ;  the  choice  and  arrange 
ment  of  the  sounds,  both  vowels  and  conso 
nants,  cooperate  powerfully  :  but  in  addition 
to  the  imitative  value,  the  rhythm  suggests  a 
variety  of  sensuous  impressions  besides  those 
of  sound  and  motion.  The  power  of  rhythm 
extends,  too,  beyond  the  evoking  of  sensuous 
imagery  and  has  the  capacity  of  suggesting 
moods.  The  extraordinary  placidity  of  Cross 
ing  the  Bar  is  to  a  large  extent  due  to  the 
fine  agreement  of  rhythm  and  idea,  though 
there  is  little  direct  imitation ;  and  Tennyson's 
work  everywhere  abounds  with  illustrations 
of  the  same  device. 

Bjut  the  function  of  metre  as  a  means 
of  raising  the  pitch  of  intensity  in  a  poem  is 
not  limited  to  these  well-recognized  methods 
of  imitation  and  suggestion.  It  has  a  further 
power,  exercised  at  times  in  almost  complete 
detachment  from  the  particular  ideas  of  the 
poem,  by  which  it  prepares  the  way  for  the 


200  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

effect  to  be  produced  by  the  substance  of  the 
poem  and  by  the  other  elements  of  form, 
through  inducing  a  general  excitement  that 
results  in  a  high  state  of  receptiveness  to  emo 
tional  suggestion.  It  performs  psychologically 
a  function  comparable  to  the  exhilarating  ef 
fect  of  marching  in  concert  with  others,  quick 
ening  the  circulation,  and  increasing  the  re 
sponsiveness  of  the  sensitive  centres. 

Of  all  the  elements  and  devices  of  poetry, 
rhythm  is  that  which  appeals  most  forcibly 
and  immediately  to  the  crowd,  for  the  same 
reason  that,  of  all  kinds  of  music,  melody  with 
well-marked  rhythm  is  surest  of  popularity. 
There  is  a  point,  indeed,  where  it  is  difficult 
to  distinguish  the  pleasures  derived  from  verse 
and  music  respectively.  Listen  to  the  sound 
here: 

Go  button  your  boots  with  a  tiger's  tail. 

Comb  down  your  golden  hair; 
And  live  for  a  week  upon  bubble-and-squeak 

On  the  steps  of  a  winding  stair. 

This  is  sheer  nonsense,  but  it  is  not  without 
emotional  effect:  as  art,  I  suppose  it  is  on  about 
the  same  level  as  the  rhythmical  beating  of  a 
drum.  The  emotional  condition  produced  by 
sheer  rhythm  like  this  is  vague,  and  in  a  real 
poem  receives  direction  from  the  substance. 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  201 

But,  though  vague,  it  is  not  absolutely  char 
acterless;  and  poets  vary  greatly  in  their  tact 
in  fitting  the  proper  content  to  the  right  met 
rical  movement.  Tennyson  was  nearly  always 
right  here ;  Wordsworth  often  wrong.  A  fla 
grant  instance  is  his  pathetic  poem  of  The 
Reverie  of  Poor  Susan : 

At  the  corner  of  Wood  Street,  when  daylight  appears, 
Hangs  a  Thrush  that  sings  loud,  it  has  sung  for  three  years  : 
Poor  Susan  has  passed  by  the  spot,  and  has  heard 
In  the  silence  of  morning  the  song  of  the  Bird. 

He  proceeds  with  a  tenderly  drawn  picture  of 
homesickness,  but  the  sentiment  of  the  country 
girl  in  the  city  longing  for  her  home  is  made 
to  keep  time  to  a  rhythm  that  is  next  cou 
sin  to  that  used  so  admirably  in  How  They 
brought  the  Good  News  from  Ghent  to  Aix. 
This  evidence  of  specific  quality  in  rhythms, 
however,  does  not  contradict  the  view  of  the 
general  kindling  effect  of  metre,  its  power  of 
preparing  the  reader  to  realize  the  content 
of  the  poem  more  intensely,  as  heat  prepares 
wax  to  take  more  readily  and  more  deeply 
the  impression  of  the  seal. 

With  all  this,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
rhythm  is  only  one  of  many  aids  to  the  ex- 


202  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

pression  of  intensity.  This  fundamental  qual 
ity  allies  itself  intimately  with  any  or  all  of 
the  other  essential  qualities,  heightening  and 
strengthening  them,  and  determining  as  much 
as  any  the  poetic  vitality  of  the  work  in  which 
they  are  manifested. 

Yet  the  addition  of  this  element  to  any  one 
of  the  others  does  not  do  away  with  the  ne 
cessity  for  the  balance  of  the  other  fundamen 
tal  qualities.  It  is  possible  to  have  imaginative 
intensity  in  such  excess  and  such  isolation  as 
to  produce  mere  incoherence,  unrestrained  by 
reason  or  reality.  That  one  can  find  abun 
dantly  exemplified  in  William  Blake,  and 
sometimes  in  Shelley,  though  Shelley's  sense 
of  form  usually  added  some  element  of  control. 
Intense  realism  we  have  found  in  Crabbe  and 
Wordsworth,  as  one  cduld  find  it  also  in  Burns 
and  Byron  and  many  others,  where  the  fury 
of  the  zeal  for  exposing  the  fact  does  not 
serve  to  raise  the  result  into  the  realm  of 
poetry.  The  doubtful  standing  of  Satire  in 
the  field  of  poetry  is  due  to  the  possibility  of 
this  situation.  And  the  age  of  Pope  affords 
ample  evidence  of  the  zealous  cultivation  of 
the  power  of  expressing  good  sense  in  good 
form,  without  much  resulting  poetry.  , 


INTENSITY  IN  POETRY  203 

On  the  other  hand,  the  presence  of  intensity 
does  much  to  produce  the  necessary  balance. 
This  is  especially  so  in  the  cases  where  other 
wise  there  might  be  an  excess  of  the  rational 
or  matter-of-fact  elements,  because  the  tend 
ency  of  emotion  is  to  awaken  imagination  and 
so  modify  an  exclusive  attention  to  the  literal 
truth  or  severe  premeditation  by  the  admixture 
of  that  heightening  and  idealization  which 
feeling  is  prone  to  produce. 

It  appears,  then,  that  though  intensity  is 
necessary  in  all  types  of  poetry  in  order  to 
produce  the  "  elevating  excitement  of  the 
soul,"  the  ecstasy  in  which  for  an  instant  we  see 
things  sub  specie  ceternitatis  ;  and  though  it 
is  a  main  force  in  producing  the  required 
equilibrium  among  the  other  elements,  the 
fire  that  melts  and  fuses  them ;  it  is  never 
theless  peculiarly  related  to  the  imagination, 
rousing  it  and  being  roused  by  it  with  an 
intimacy  of  action  and  reaction  found  in  con 
nection  with  none  of  the  other  elements  ;  and 
affording  an  explanation  of  the  fact,  often  de 
nied  by  the  critics,  but  recognized  by  the  gen 
eral  sense  of  the  public,  that  in  romantic  verse 
more  constantly  than  in  any  other  kind  are  we 
likely  to  find  burning  the  true  poetic  fire. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SENTIMENTALISM   IN   POETRY 

IN  the  foregoing  chapters  we  have  been  con« 
cerned  with  those  elements  of  poetry  which 
may  be  regarded  as  fundamental,  and  which 
seem  to  be  present,  though  in  varying  propor 
tions,  in  all  poetry.  In  those  which  remain,  we 
are  to  discuss  the  nature  and  relations  of  what 
we  may  call  the  minor  qualities  of  sentiment 
and  humor.  Looked  at  from  the  point  of  view 
of  poems  in  which  they  are  prominently  mani 
fested,  such  elements  are,  of  course,  not  minor, 
but  may  be  the  most  striking  characteristics : 
but  from  the  point  of  view  of  poetry  in  gen 
eral  they  are  minor,  since  great  poetry  may 
exist  without  them. 

I 

The  word  "  sentiment "  is  employed  in  a 
considerable  variety  of  senses ;  but  in  connec 
tion  with  literature  and  art  it  has  a  fairly  defi 
nite  meaning.  It  is  used  for  the  milder  range 
of  emotions,  for  emotion  associated  with 
thought  and  evoked  by  ideas,  as  opposed  to 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY  205 

passion  and  to  emotion  more  directly  depend 
ent  on  sensation.  It  constantly  appears  in 
connection  with  the  adjective  "tender";  and 
is  the  mainstay  of  the  pathetic.  So  frequent 
is  this  association  that  sentiment  is  at  times 
almost  identified  with  the  feeling  of  com 
passion  ;  but  such  feelings  as  friendship,  the 
love  of  home  and  country,  the  sense  of  honor, 
a  kindly  attitude  towards  the  lower  animals, 
with  the  other  emotions  generally  called  "hu 
manitarian,"  —  all  of  these,  when  they  do  not 
exist  with  such  intensity  as  to  be  called  passion, 
are  all  included  in  sentiment.  As  an  element  in 
character  the  sentiments  play  a  very  important 
part ;  for,  though  they  are  not  likely  to  be  in 
volved  in  the  great  crises  of  existence,  they  are 
in  daily  exercise,  and  are  largely  the  causes  of 
the  prevailing  tone  of  our  ordinary  life.  The 
factors,  for  example,  which  are  usually  consid 
ered  in  the  awarding  of  the  title  of  "  gentle 
man  "  belong  chiefly  to  the  class  of  what  used 
to  be  called  "fine  feelings"  or  sentiments. 

In  literature,  the  effect  of  sentiment  is  some 
what  analogous.  It  does  not  make  or  unmake  »  \ 
poetry,  but  it  may  be  chiefly  responsible  for 
its  flavor  and  charm.  A  poem  like  The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night  has  gained  its  great  popu- 


206  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

larity  mainly  by  the  diffusion  throughout  it  of 
those  sentiments  with  which  the  ordinary  man 
most  readily  sympathizes :  the  feeling  of  do 
mesticity;  the  attraction  of  fireside  and  chil 
dren  at  the  end  of  the  day's  work;  the  mild 
reciprocal  inclination  of  the  man  to  the  maid 
and  the  maid  to  the  man,  love  in  the  stage 
when  it  may  be  still  impeded  by  bashf  ulness ; 
the  family  exercise  of  religion,  here  affecting 
the  reader  through  old  association  rather  than 
conviction ;  and,  finally,  the  emotion  of  patriot 
ism.  While  the  great  masterpieces  deal  with 
lofty  passions,  supreme  crises,  and  heroic  types, 
the  function  of  sentiment,  both  in  life  and 
in  literature,  is  the  enrichment  of  the  common 
place  ;  and  this,  not  by  the  larger  exercise  of 
imagination  that  discerns  in  it  the  universal, 
but  by  a  humbler  process  of  rousing  tender 
feelings  of  sympathy  and  association.  The 
abundance  of  this  quality,  along  with  a  fine 
command  of  simple  rhythms,  is  the  main  cause 
of  the  wide  popular  appeal  of  such  a  poet  as 
Longfellow. 

II 

But  our  main  theme  is  not  sentiment,  but 
sentimentalism,  a  tendency  closely  related,  in- 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY  2C7 

deed,  to  sentiment,  but  differing  widely  from 
it  in  its  manifestations  and  effects.  Sentiment- 
alism,  like  the  other  tendencies  in  human  na 
ture  and  in  literature  which  we  have  been 
studying,  is  the  exclusive  property  of  no  one 
period  or  movement;  yet  the  historical  method 
is  as  convenient  an  approach  as  any  to  an  ap 
prehension  of  its  significance. 

Alongside  of  the  rationalism  which  we  have 
noted  as  so  prevalent  in  the  eighteenth  cen 
tury,  there  appeared  a  vigorous  assertion  of 
the  rights  of  feeling.  No  society  and  no  liter 
ature  could  long  subsist  on  a  purely  intellect 
ual  diet,  and  a  demand  for  an  outlet  on  the 
emotional  side  of  human  nature  was  inevitable. 
Evidences  of  it  are  abundant  in  the  social  life 
of  the  time,  in  philosophy,  and  in  literature, 
and  it  found  its  culminating  expression  in  the 
writings  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau.  Rousseau's 
influence  gave  the  tendency  an  enormous  im 
petus,  and  for  a  generation  or  more  it  drenched 
the  literature  of  Western  Europe,  coinciding 
in  time  to  a  large  extent  with  the  revival  of 
Romanticism,  and  becoming  mixed  with  it  in 
a  confusion  which  criticism  has  not  yet  dis 
entangled. 

O 

In  England,  however,  the  assertion  of  the 


208  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

rights  of  feeling  had  been  going  on  long  be 
fore  Rousseau,  and  had  given  rise  to  well- 
marked  literary  forms,  the  most  noted  of  which 
were  the  sentimental  drama  and  the  senti 
mental  novel.  Each  of  these  forms  exhibits  the 
sentimental  tendency  under  a  special  phase ; 
but  before  examining  them  it  is  necessary  to 
consider  the  thing  itself  as  an  element  in  hu 
man  nature. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  many  of  the  sen 
timents  enumerated  are,  like  the  sentiment 
of  pity,  roused  by  the  spectacle  of  suffering 
and  misfortune,  and  though  sentiment,  even 
when  no  suffering  is  involved,  is  peculiarly 
allied  to  tears,  yet  the  sentiments  as  a  whole 
are  sources  of  pleasing  experience.  Even  in 
the  normal  and  wholesome  person,  the  sadness 
of  sentiment  is  a  pleasing  melancholy.  It  is 
in  this  "  pleasing  "  that  the  insidious  element 
in  sentiment  resides;  and  when  a  man,  led 
by  this  pleasure,  goes  on  to  cultivate  the  feel 
ings  which  give  rise  to  it,  for  the  sake  of  in 
tensifying  and  prolonging  the  pleasure,  we 
behold  the  development  of  sentiment  into  sen- 
timentalism.  Sentimentalism  is  the  cultivation 
of  emotion  for  the  sake  of  the  thrill,  of  the 
subjective  experience.  It  is  distinguished  from 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY  209 

sentiment,  which  is  spontaneous  and  innocuous, 
because  the  pleasure  the  latter  affords  comes 
unsought,  and  is  the  result  of  the  normal  re 
action  of  a  sensitive  temperament  to  a  situa 
tion.  It  is  similarly  distinguished  from  pas 
sion  and  the  more  intense  forms  of  genuine 
emotion,  for  these  also  are  spontaneous  and 
unforced.  Further,  while  real  passion  seeks  its 
natural  outlet  in  action,  the  sentimentalist  is 
characterized  by  the  fact  that  his  interest  in 
the  object  of  his  worked -up  emotion  ceases 
when  it  has  served  its  purpose  of  providing 
the  desired  excitement.  Not  that  the  sentiment 
alist  abstains  entirely  from  action  :  the  pau 
perizing  effects  of  sentimental  charity  are  proof 
to  the  contrary.  But  the  real  motive,  conscious 
or  unconscious,  of  the  sentimental  giving  of 
alms  is  not  the  good  of  the  beggar  but  the 
giver's  flush  of  satisfaction  from  the  picture 
of  himself  as  Benevolence  relieving  Misery* 
For  this  type  of  person  finds  that  the  emo 
tional  luxury  is  intensified,  not  so  much  by 
absorption  in  the  drama  of  life,  as  by  the 
power  of  being  at  once  spectator  and  actor. 
He  loves  to  see  himself  in  interesting  and  pic 
turesque  situations,  and  he  will  indulge  him 
self  in  this  pleasure,  even  when  he  could  by  a 


210  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

slight  intellectual  effort  see  that  he  is  degrad 
ing  himself.  Hence  comes  the  phenomenon 
that  the  sentimental  author  is  constantly  pos 
ing  and  attitudinizing,  and  that  his  work  stands 
condemned  for  insincerity.  For,  in  order  to 
get  the  thrill  out  of  the  situation,  he  has  to 
deceive  himself  as  to  its  factitious  nature, 
and  where  the  corrective  would  be  a  candid 
employment  of  the  reason,  he  seduces  the 
imagination  into  cooperation  in  procuring  for 
him  this  sterile  enjoyment  of  his  own  sensibil 
ities.  A  sincere  and  candid  critical  view  of 
himself  thus  engaged  would  reveal  the  in 
congruity  of  the  situation,  and  the  sentiment- 
alism  would  be  dissolved  in  laughter.  Hence 
this  tendency  has  always  an  insincere  element 
in  it,  and  in  general  keeps  humor  at  arm's 
length. 

Ill 

No  writer  has  ever  more  keenly  penetrated 
the  humbug  of  sentimentalism,  or  more  trench 
antly  exposed  its  fundamental  selfishness  than 
Shakespeare.  Figures  exhibiting  its  word 
ings  abound  in  his  plays.  Romeo  in  love  with 
%  Rosaline,  seeking  not  his  mistress's  welfare  or 
even  her  society,  but  solitude,  where  he  may 


SENTIMENTALISM   IN   POETRY  211 

nurse  his  emotion  and  enjoy  his  imagined 
misery,  is  a  clear  example ;  and  it  is  brought 
into  clear  relief  by  contrast  with  the  Romeo 
who  loves  Juliet  with  a  genuine  passion,  and 
with  open  eyes  risks  and  meets  death  itself  for 
her  sake.  Constance,  in  King  John,  sacrific 
ing  the  political  prospects  of  her  son  in  her 
eagerness  to  indulge  in  voluble  eloquence  her 
grief  over  that  son's  wrongs,  till  King  Philip 
impatiently  exclaims,  "  You  are  more  fond  of 
grief  than  of  your  child,"  —  this  Constance  is 
another  instance.  Richard  II  is  a  still  more 
elaborately  drawn  specimen  of  the  type.  Land 
ing  in  Wales,  he  finds  his  throne  threatened 
by  the  invading  Bolingbroke,  and  first  he  falls 
back  on  his  favorite  view  of  himself : 

Not  all  the  water  in  the  rough  rude  sea 
Can  wash  the  balm  off  from  an  anointed  king  ; 
The  breath  of  worldly  men  cannot  depose 
The  deputy  elected  by  the  Lord. 

(Richard  II,  m,  ii,  54  ff.) 

But  Bolingbroke  presses  on  till  the  danger 
cannot  be  ignored,  and  then  Richard  finds  his 
satisfaction,  not  in  leading  a  forlorn  hope,  but 
in  indulging  in  a  depression  as  unreasonable, 
but  just  as  enjoyable,  as  his  former  assur 
ance  : 


J12  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Of  comfort  no  man  speak. 
Let 's  talk  of  graves,  of  worms,  and  epitaphs  ; 
Make  dust  our  paper  and  with  rainy  eyes 
Write  sorrow  on  the  bosom  of  the  earth.  .  .  . 
For  God's  sake,  let  us  sit  upon  the  ground 
And  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings. 

(HI,  ii,  144  ff.) 

Even  in  the  humiliation  of  the  abdication 
scene,  he  wallows  luxuriously  in  the  sense  of 
his  own  debasement,  and  .prolongs  the  agony 
for  no  purpose  but  the  enjoyment  of  the  pic 
turesque  misery  of  his  fall.  Once  more,  Duke 
Orsino,  in  Twelfth  Night,  exhibits  with  fatal 
clearness  the  two  main  aspects  of  sentimental- 
ism.  The  first  is  in  the  opening  speech  : 

If  music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on  ! 
Give  me  excess  of  it,  that,  surfeiting, 
The  appetite  may  sicken,  and  so  die. 
That  strain  again  !    It  had  a  dying  fall. 
O,  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  sound 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Stealing  and  giving  odour.  Enough  !  no  more  ! 
'T  is  not  so  sweet  now  as  it  was  before. 

Here,  surely,  is  an  explicit  picture  of  the 
sentimental  as  opposed  to  the  real  lover,  lying 
among  flowers,  listening  to  music  with  a  dying 
fall,  nursing  his  sickly  passion  into  an  anse- 
mic  existence,  and  sending  a  proxy  to  do  his 
wooing.  Orsino  is  in  love  with  love,  not  with 
Olivia.  Then  at  the  end,  when  Olivia  definitely 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY  213 

rejects  him,  the  other  side  of  sentimentalism 
appears : 

Why  should  I  not,  had  I  the  heart  to  do  it, 
Like  to  the  Egyptian  thief  at  point  of  death, 
Kill  what  I  love  ?  —  a  savage  jealousy 
That  sometimes  savours  nobly. 

(v,  i,  120  ff.) 

Here  imagination  is  brought  to  his  aid,  and  he 
contemplates  with  interest  the  image  of  him 
self  as  the  jealous  murderer  of  the  woman  he 
thought  he  loved. 

These  examples  from  Shakespeare  are 
brought  together,  not  as  part  of  a  historical 
treatment  of  the  sentimental  tendency  in  lit 
erature  —  for  such  exposures  as  these  indicate 
the  reverse  of  sentimentalism  in  the  author  — 
but  as  concrete  instances  which  may  help  to 
make  more  definite  the  notion  of  sentimental- 
ism  contained  in  the  abstract  description.  We 
return  now  to  the  historical  consideration  of 
the  tendency  in  the  sentimental  literature  of 
the  eighteenth  century. 

IV 

Among  the  speculations  on  man  and  society 
that  abounded  in  that  era,  sentimentalism 
seized  on  the  congenial  theory  of  the  essential 
goodness  of  the  human  heart.  The  view  that 


214  'ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

the  criminal  was  at  bottom  a  good  fellow,  who 
had  been  led  astray  by  the  force  of  circum 
stances  and  who  consequently  was  to  be  pitied 
rather  than  blamed,  appealed  then  as  now  to 
temperaments  eager  to  enjoy  the  sentiments 
of  compassion  and  universal  benevolence.  The 
sentimental  drama  sprang  up,  a  type  of  play 
which  presented  middle-class  or  humble  life 
by  a  method  externally  realistic,  and  in  which 
the  action  centred  in  an  erring  son  or  daugh 
ter,  husband  or  wife,  whose  sins  and  whose 
sufferings,  repentance  and  forgiveness,  served 
equally  to  provide  the  luxury  of  gushing  tears. 
The  intensity  of  passion  of  any  sort  seldom 
appears  here  ;  the  "melting  mood"  is  the  ap 
propriate  outcome  for  this  kind  of  feeling. 
From  England,  as  Bernbaum  has  shown,  the 
sentimental  drama  passed  to  France;  and  the 
comedie  larmoyante,  and  the  sentimental 
journey  and  autobiography  which  imitated 
Sterne,  were  among  the  most  notable  contri 
butions  of  English  to  Continental  literature 
in  the  eighteenth  century. 

The  theory  of  the  essential  goodness  of 
human  nature  did  more  than  provide  an  easy 
channel  for  the  runnings  of  sentimental  sym 
pathy.  It  softened  the  sentimentalist's  heart  t»- 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY  215 

wards  himself  as  well  as  towards  other  victims 
of  environment,  and,  along  with  an  excessive 
development  of  the  doctrine  of  the  rights  of 
feeling,  it  tended  to  the  weakening  of  moral 
judgments,  and  to  the  substitution  of  a  tender 
sensibility  for  common  sense  and  a  clear  con 
science  as  the  guide  of  life  and  the  criterion 
of  character.  Later  the  fervid  eloquence  of 
Rousseau  proclaimed  these  doctrines  as  a  new 
gospel,  and  for  half  a  century  one  hears  their 
echoes  in  theories  of  education  and  govern 
ment,  in  novel  and  lyric  and  romance. 

The  manifestation  of  this  tendency  in  the 
novel  lies  outside  of  our  field  ;  but  a  glance  at 
one  or  two  writers  will  help  the  completeness 
of  our  view.  Samuel  Richardson  was  too  great 
an  artist  to  compose  his  novels  on  a  recipe  so 
simple  as  served  for  the  sentimental  drama. 
Life  as  he  understood  it  was  a  complex  thing, 
and  exhibited  a  great  variety  of  character  and 
emotion.  Yet  it  was  undoubtedly  the  same 
craving  as  found  satisfaction  in  the  lachrymose 
drama  that  gave  Richardson  his  eager  audience, 
and  held  London  palpitating  and  sobbing  for 
weeks  over  the  fate  of  Clarissa.  It  is  a  difficult 
question  to  what  extent  the  writers  of  senti 
mental  books  in  this  period  were  themselves 


216  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

sentimentalists,  or  were  merely  deliberate  de 
visers  of  characters  and  situations  designed 
to  draw  tears  from  the  reader;  but  it  appears 
likely  that  Richardson  shared  to  some  de 
gree  his  public's  sensibility,  and  had  some 
part  in  the  painful  pleasure  roused  by  the 
pathos  of  his  heroine's  prolonged  demise.  The 
same  problem  faces  one  in  the  case  of  even 
more  abandoned  caterers  to  the  sentimental 
taste,  like  the  author  of  The  Man  of  Feeling, 
who  complicates  the  matter  still  further  by 
pointing  out  the  evils  of  excessive  sensibility 
while  creating  scenes  and  persons  which  seem 
deliberately  calculated  to  excite  it.  Still  more 
perplexing  is  the  literary  character  of  Laurence 
Sterne.  It  is  often  said  that  all  that  sentiment 
needs  to  keep  it  from  degenerating  into  senti- 
mentalism  is  the  saving  grace  of  humor.  Yet 
Sterne  is,  both  in  his  character  and  in  his 
work,  a  pronounced  sentimentalist,  while  at 
the  same  time  he  is  a  great  humorist.  In  some 
writers,  Dickens  for  example,  this  combination 
is  accounted  for  by  an  alternation  of  moods: 
one  scene  is  written  in  one  mood,  another  in 
the  other.  But  in  Sterne  they  come  to  closer 
quarters,  in  the  same  scene,  the  same  para 
graph,  the  same  sentence  even.  This  man  had 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN   POETRY  217 

the  power  of  coaxing  the  tears  out  of  a  situa 
tion,  and  next  moment  of  laughing  at  its  ab 
surdity,  without  being  in  the  least  ashamed  of 
himself,  or  at  all  reluctant  to  resume  the  senti 
mental  attitude  forthwith.  No  sentimentalist 
was  ever  so  open  and  unashamed  in  his  frank 
profession  of  the  quest  for  the  sentimental  oc 
casion  and  the  sentimental  experience;  none 
so  sophisticated  in  contriving  refinements  of 
his  favorite  dissipation.  The  humor  which,  in 
a  simpler  temperament,  would  check  by  ex 
posure  the  rise  of  factitious  feeling,  served  in 
Sterne  only  to  excite  it  by  tantalizing ;  and 
left  him  free  to  use  even  prurience  in  its  ser 
vice.  Nowhere  in  the  poetry  of  this  or  any 
other  period  are  we  likely  to  find  the  deliber 
ate  abuse  of  sentiment  carried  to  the  extreme 
in  which  it  is  found  in  the  writings  of  Laurence 
Sterne. 


In  the  eighteenth  century  the  sentimental 
movement  affected  non-dramatic  poetry  later 
and  at  first  much  less  obviously  than  it  did 
the  drama  and  the  novel.  The  frigid  attempts 
at  lyric  that  appeared  during  the  neo-classical 
supremacy  in  England  contain  evidence  enough 


218  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

of  attempts  to  work  up  feeling  that  certainly 
did  not  spring  forth  spontaneously ;  but  these 
attempts  are  as  a  rule  so  unsuccessful  that  one 
cannot  believe  that  either  writer  or  reader  was 
really  touched,  as  the  sentimentalist  yearns  to 
be  touched.  Honest  sentiment  without  pretence 
at  profundity,  but  sincere  as  far  as  it  went, 
one  finds,  indeed,  in  the  society  verses  of  Prior, 
in  popular  songs  like  Gay's  Black-eyed  Susan, 
Carey's  Sally  in  our  Alley,  or  Dibdin's  Tom 
Bowling  ;  and  a  tenderer  strain  in  the  Scot 
tish  poets,  who  were  much  less  affected  by 
neo-classicism  than  their  southern  brethren, 
—  Allan  Ramsay,  Grizel  Baillie,  and  the  au 
thors  of  such  familiar  songs  as  The  Flowers 
of  the  Forest,  The  Braes  of  Yarrow,  and 
Auld  Robin  Gray ;  but  most  of  the  poetry 
of  this  class  rings  sincere,  and  needs  to  be 
mentioned  in  this  discussion  only  to  be  distin 
guished  from  the  product  of  the  rising  tide  of 
sensibility. 

One  document,  notorious  enough  in  its  day, 
and  usually  claimed  as  a  prominent  evidence  of 
the  revival  of  romanticism,  gives  rise  to  a  nice 
question  in  criticism.  Macpherson's  Ossian 
has,  indeed,  externally  many  of  the  marks  of 
a  romantic  production.  Realistic  it  is  not; 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY  219 

classic  it  is  not;  for  one  cannot  find  in  it  either 
sense  of  fact  or  form.  Vague  and  tumultuous, 
this  production  appealed  to  many  readers,  on 
the  Continent  as  well  as  in  Britain,  as  a  highly 
imaginative  work,  presenting  ideal  passion 
against  a  background  of  mist  and  mountain, — 
the  very  embodiment  of  romance.  The  soberer 
criticism  of  our  time  has  its  doubts  about  Os- 
sian,  doubts  that  go  deeper  than  the  historical 
questions  of  its  age  and  authorship.  Some  find 
that  its  characters  are  but  names,  not  people ; 
that  its  landscape  defies  visualization ;  that  its 
supposed  imagination  is  a  humbug  and  a  fraud. 
This  is,  perhaps,  a  trifle  severe;  but  it  is  at 
least  fairly  to  be  argued  that  Macpherson's 
conceptions  did  not  really  rouse  in  their  author 
powerful  emotion,  but  rather  came  into  exist 
ence  as  the  result  of  a  violent  effort  to  produce 
something  impressive  and  thrilling ;  and  that 
they  found  a  responsive  audience  because  so 
much  of  the  public  at  that  time  stood  eager  to 
be  thrilled.  Thus  interpreted,  the  vogue  of  Os- 
sian  would  appear  as  the  result  of  a  conspiracy, 
unconscious  on  the  side  of  the  public,  and  per 
haps  on  both  sides,  to  regard  as  a  masterpiece 
a  pretentious  impostor,  whose  very  pretentious 
ness  was  the  chief  factor  in  making  possible  a 


220  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

kind  of  self -hypnotism.  If  this  is  right,  Ossian 
was  the  first  notable  non-dramatic  triumph  of 
the  sentimentalist  movement  in  English  poetry 
in  that  age. 

Among  the  beneficent  results  of  the  vogue 
of  sensibility  in  the  period  under  discussion 
was  the  rise  of  the  humanitarian  movement. 
Its  effects  upon  society  were  very  great: 
prison-reform  and  the  abolition  of  slavery  were 
only  two  of  the  most  important  results ;  but 
the  current  of  sentiment  which  has  produced 
down  to  our  own  time  Societies  for  the  Pre 
vention  of  various  cruelties,  and  for  the  pro 
tection  and  preservation  of  people  and  ani 
mals  not  able  to  protect  themselves,  has  its 
source  in  the  eighteenth-century  revival  of 
feeling,  and  has  never  to  any  notable  extent 
ebbed  since.  The  humanitarian  poetry  of  the 
last  quarter  of  the  eighteenth  century  seems 
to  be  clearly  a  phase  of  the  same  movement. 
Cowper's  poems  about  his  tame  hares,  and 
B  urns' s  poems  To  a  Daisy  and  To  a  Mouse, 
to  the  old  ewe,  and  to  the  mare,  Maggie,  are 
often  brought  into  relation  with  the  political 
side  of  the  Romantic  Movement,  as  if  the  doc 
trine  of  the  rights  of  man  and  the  brotherhood 
of  man  had  been  extended  to  hares  and  mice 


SENTIMENT ALISM  IN    IOETRY  221 

and  daisies,  and  as  if  plants  and  animals  were 
to  be  given  the  benefit  o£  triumphant  demo 
cracy.  This  is  to  misconceive  the  situation.  The 
attitude  of  the  authors  who  produced  these 
poems,  the  attitude  of  the  public  which  wel 
comed  them,  and  which  still  reads  them  gladly, 
is  that  of  willingness  to  be  moved  to  sym 
pathetic  compassion  of  the  helplessness  of 
dumb  things ;  and  is  quite  differeu  t  from  the 
belligerent  mood  of  "A  Man  's  a  Mini  for  a' 
that,"  the  indignation  of  Coleridge,  or  the 
early  democratic  optimism  of  Wordsworth 
and  Southey.  Here  again  a  little  cart  suffices 
to  keep  the  sentimental  and  the  romantic 
threads  distinct. 

In  associating  these  poems  with  the  fit  urish- 
ingof  sentiment,  there  is  not  implied,  of  course, 
any  condemnation  of  them.  Of  sentimeutalism 
Cowper  may  in  general  be  acquitted,  sensitive 
soul  though  he  was.  The  case  of  Burns  :s  aot 
so  easily  settled.  The  poem  To  a  Mouse  is 
touched  with  implicit  humor,  and  is  just  saved, 
in  spite  of  its  moralizing  conclusion.  To  a 
Daisy  seems,  it  must  be  confessed,  to  come 
in  its  closing  stanzas  perilously  near  to  senti 
mentalism,  almost,  if  not  quite,  to  slop  over. 
And  it  is  true  as  a  rule  of  Burns  that  /  he 


222  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

traces  of  sentimentalism  in  him  are  oftenest  to 
be  found  in  the  last  stanzas  of  poems.  At 
times  his  taste  and  tact  failed  him ;  he  did  not 
recognize  the  proper  stopping  place,  but  went 
on,  after  the  due  culmination  and  after  the 
spontaneous  impulse  had  abated,  working  up 
a  jaded  emotion  to  what  he  hoped  would  be 
a  final  blaze  of  glory.  Often  he  sought  this 
lofty  close  by  pure  didacticism,  and  in  so  do 
ing  has  often  mightily  pleased  his  countrymen, 
who  have  at  large  better  taste  in  sermons  than 
in  poetry ;  but  sometimes  he  sought  it  in  a 
factitious  intensity  of  feeling,  and  it  is  by  vir 
tue  of  such  cases  that  we  are  discussing  him 
now.  Perhaps  the  most  prominent  instance  of 
this  is  in  the  last  three  verses  of  The  Cotter  s 
Saturday  Nighty  where,  as  if  he  undervalued 
the  faithful  and  tender  picture  which  he  had 
drawn,  he  seeks  to  raise  the  emotional  level 
by  apostrophes  to  Scotia  and  to  the  Almighty. 
Several  of  Burns's  English  lyrics  occasioned 
(one  cannot  say  inspired)  by  the  flirtation  with 
Mrs.  McLehose,  are  among  the  worst  in  this 
respect : 

Clarinda,  mistress  of  my  soul, 

The  measured  time  is  run  ! 
The  wretch  beneath  the  dreary  pole 

So  marks  his  latest  sun. 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY  223 

To  what  dark  cave  of  frozen  night 

Shall  poor  Sylvander  hie, 
Depriv'd  of  thee,  his  life  and  light, 

The  sun  of  all  his  joy  ? 

And,  indeed,  except  for  one  or  two  immortal 
lyrics,  the  verses  that  resulted  from  this  in 
sincere  piece  of  philandering  betray  their  ori 
gin  in  an  almost  total  lack  of  that  spontaneity 
and  abandon  that  characterize  the  dialect  songs 
celebrating  his  love  affairs  among  the  country 
girls  of  his  own  class.  The  test  to  be  applied 
throughout  is  simply  that  of  emotional  sin 
cerity.  For  the  most  part,  Burns's  poems  and 
songs  give  the  impression  of  feeling  compell 
ing  utterance  ;  here  and  there  we  catch  him 
laboring  with  the  utterance  in  the  effort  to 
compel  the  feeling,  and  then  he  is  with  the 
sentimentalists. 

The  less  sympathetic  critics  among  Words 
worth's  contemporaries  frequently  found  them 
selves  repelled  by  what  they  felt  to  be  a  sen 
timentalist  quality  in  his  poems.  They  seldom 
used  the  word,  but  the  thing  itself  is  often 
enough  pointed  at,  as,  for  example,  by  Jeffrey 
when  he  contrasts  Crabbe  and  Wordsworth, 
greatly  to  the  latter's  disadvantage.  Much  of 
this  adverse  criticism  has  rebounded  on  the 
head  of  the  critic,  for  we  have  come  to  see 


224  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

that  it  was  often  the  critic's  own  narrowness 
of  emotional  range  and  the  shallowness  of  his 
insight  that  led  him  to  condemn  as  insincere, 
expressions  of  emotion  whose  springs  he  did 
not  understand.  Nevertheless,  Jeffrey  and  his 
like  were  not  always  wrong,  and  he  put  his 
finger  on  many  faults  in  Wordsworth  which 
it  is  useless  to  try  to  defend. 

When  we  read  the  manifesto  issued  by 
Wordsworth  and  Coleridge  with  the  Lyrical 
Ballads,  and  the  later  elaborations  of  it  by 
both  poets,  we  are  sometimes  moved  to  won 
der,  and  perhaps  to  doubt,  by  the  apparently 
deliberate  and  calculated  method  by  which 
they  represent  themselves  as  going  to  work 
to  produce  poetry.  "  Mr.  Wordsworth,"  says 
Coleridge  in  a  passage  already  quoted,  "  was 
to  propose  to  himself  as  his  object,  to  give  the 
charm  of  novelty  to  things  of  every  day,  and 
to  excite  a  feeling  analogous  to  the  supernat 
ural,  by  awakening  the  mind's  attention  from 
the  lethargy  of  custom,  and  directing  it  to  the 
loveliness  and  the  wonders  of  the  world  before 
us/'  One  prefers  to  think  of  poets  as  them 
selves  in  the  first  place  excited  by  such  feel 
ing,  and  moved  by  its  very  intensity  to  seek 
utterance  for  it,  especially  when  these  poets 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN   POETRY  225 

are  leading  a  reaction  against  the  poetry  of 
reason.  In  this,  as  in  many  other  respects,  the 
authors  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads  proved  better 
than  their  word,  and  spontaneity  of  emotion 
appears  abundantly  in  their  verse.  Yet  in  this 
carefully  thought  out  program  we  may  see  a 
partial  explanation  of  the  fact  that  we  do  find 
in  Wordsworth  cases  where  the  will  and  the 
circumstances  are  thoroughly  prepared  for  the 
poetical  experience,  but  no  poetry  results. 
Sometimes  the  outcome  is  a  piece  of  somewhat 
barren  realism,  as  in  The  Thorn,  already  cited ; 
oftener  the  place  of  the  missing  emotion  is 
taken  by  moralizing,  to  which  Wordsworth 
was  ever  prone ;  occasionally  he  is  betrayed 
into  working  up  the  feeling  and  produces  a 
piece  of  sentimentalism.  The  following  poem 
seems  to  me  an  instance : 

Up,  Timothy,  up  with  your  staff  and  away  ! 
Not  a  soul  in  the  village  this  morning  will  stay  ; 
The  hare  has  just  started  from  Hamilton's  grounds, 
And  Skiddaw  is  glad  with  the  cry  of  the  hounds. 

—  Of  coats  and  of  jackets  grey,  scarlet,  and  green, 
On  the  slopes  of  the  pastures  all  colours  were  seen ; 
With  their  comely  blue  aprons,  and  caps  white  as  snow 
The  girls  on  the  hills  made  a  holiday  show. 

Fresh  sprigs  of  green  box- wood,  not  six  months  before, 
Filled  the  funeral  basin  at  Timothy's  door  ; 


226  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

A  coffin  through  Timothy's  threshold  had  past ; 
One  Child  did  it  bear,  and  that  Child  was  his  last 

Now  fast  up  the  dell  came  the  noise  and  the  fray, 
The  horse  and  the  horn,  and  the  hark  !  hark  away ! 
Old  Timothy  took  up  his  staff,  and  he  shut 
With  a  leisurely  motion  the  door  of  his  hut. 

Perhaps  to  himself  at  that  moment  he  said ; 
"  The  key  I  must  take  for  my  Ellen  is  dead." 
But  of  this  in  my  ears  not  a  word  did  he  speak  ; 
And  he  went  to  the  chase  with  a  tear  on  his  cheek. 

This  is  a  mild  case,  and  thorough-going 
Wordsworthians  will  doubtless  defend  it.  But 
it  seems  to  me  that  in  it  the  poet  perceives  an 
opportunity  for  pathos  which  he  does  not  feel 
in  any  high  degree,  and  attempts,  unsuccess 
fully,  to  work  himself  and  his  reader  into  it  in 
the  telling.  But  Wordsworth  was  too  sincere 
and  simple-minded  (in  the  good  sense)  to  lay 
himself  often  open  to  the  charge  of  habitual 
sentimentalism.  The  sentiment  in  his  poems 
often  falls  flat;  his  imaginative  vision  often 
failed  in  intensity;  but  as  a  rule  he  contented 
himself  with  drawing  the  moral  and  letting 
the  feeble  emotion  lie,  without  attempting  to 
galvanize  it  into  a  semblance  of  vitality. 

Occasional  poetry  of  the  sort  Wordsworth 
so  largely  indulged  in,  verse  suggested  by  the 
sight  of  moving  natural  occurrences,  —  "  On 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN   POETRY  227 

reaching  the  summit  of  a  mountain  at  the 
moment  of  sunrise,"  "  On  my  first  view  of  the 
Matterhorn,"  and  the  like,  is  particularly  liable 
to  sentimental  weakness.  The  circumstances 
and  the  moment  seem  propitious  to  poetry; 
the  would-be  poet  sees  himself  as  a  picturesque 
figure  enjoying  a  picturesque  experience ;  and, 
when  he  puts  it  into  verse,  he  insists  on  the 
symptoms  of  an  appropriate  ecstasy.  The  la 
mentable  result  every  one  has  suffered  from. 

VI 

The  chief  example  of  the  sentimentalist  in 
the  Romantic  period  in  England  was  Lord 
Byron.  In  his  personality  and  in  his  poetry 
alike  it  is  a  pervasive  characteristic,  most 
marked,  as  is  natural,  in  his  youth,  but  re 
curring  almost  to  the  very  end.  In  England, 
at  least,  Byron  is  more  responsible  than  any 
other  one  writer  for  the  confusion  of  senti- 
mentalism  and  romanticism  ;  and  a  clear  view 
of  the  difference  between  these  tendencies  in 
him  will  do  much  to  bring  order  into  the  gen 
eral  situation. 

In  our  third  chapter,  in  discussing  imagina 
tion  and  romanticism,  we  noted  several  re 
spects  in  which  Byron's  claims  to  be  regarded 


228  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

as  a  romantic  poet  are  valid.  The  most  im 
portant  of  these  are  his  love  for  the  more 
awe-inspiring  aspects  of  natural  scenery,  his 
glorifying  of  the  savage  ideal,  and  his  enthu 
siasm  for  liberty,  especially  the  liberty  of  the 
individual  soul.  In  all  of  these,  he  was  the 
captive  of  his  imagination.  When  we  add  to 
these  a  pronounced  subjectivity,  we  name  a 
tendency  that  calls  for  careful  consideration, 
if  we  are  to  discriminate  between  the  senti 
mental  and  the  romantic. 

It  may  be  remembered  that  we  admitted 
subjectivity  to  a  place  among  the  phases  of 
romanticism,  because  the  imagination,  unlike 
the  other  faculties  involved  iu  the  creation  of 
poetry,  is  a  purely  personal  thing,  and,  in  a 
peculiar  sense,  its  operation  stamps  a  work  of 
art  with  the  individual  impress  of  the  author.1 
It  followed  that  in  a  period  or  movement  in 
which  the  imagination  was  especially  active 
personality  would  also  be  prominent,  and  much 
of  the  poetry  would  be  likely  to  exhibit  subject 
ive  and  introspective  traits.  But,  though  sub 
jectivity  may  be  an  evidence  of  the  activity  of 
the  imagination,  it  need  not  always  be  so.  Im 
aginative  activity  is  always  largely  subjective  : 

1  Cf.  pp.  65  S,  ante. 


SENTIMENTALISM   IN  POETRY  229 

subjectivity  is  not  always  imaginative;  and  a 
man  may  be  much  concerned  with  himself  and 
his  own  emotions  without  owing  this  preoccu 
pation  primarily  to  his  imagination.  The  sen 
timentalist,  as  we  have  seen,  is  intensely  inter 
ested  in  himself  and  his  emotions,  and  is  apt  to 
choose  his  interests  and  occupations  with  a 
view  to  the  intensifying  of  these  emotions  and 
the  satisfaction  of  that  self,  using  imagination 
only  as  a  means  to  this  end.  But  he  is  not 
therefore  a  romanticist ;  for  imagination  is  his 
servant  (his  pander,  I  had  almost  said),  while 
in  romance  it  is  his  master.  In  all  subjective 
verse  then,  if  we  wish  to  be  sure  whether  it 
is  romantic  or  sentimental,  we  have  to  discern 
whether  the  author  is  dealing  with  his  inner 
experiences  because  they  are  the  source  of 
that  light  that  transfigures  the  external  world 
and  makes  Nature  into  art,  or  merely  because 
he  finds  in  them  a  thrill  of  self-satisfaction.  To 
an  uncommon  degree  is  this  discrimination 
necessary  in  the  case  of  Byron.  In  no  other 
English  writer  'are  these  two  elements  so  subtly 
intertwined ;  in  no  other  is  it  so  difficult  to  de 
cide  whether  we  are  listening  to  the  utterance 
of  genuine  agony  and  yearning  wrung  forth 
by  a  vision  of  the  ideal  intolerably  wronged 


230  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

and  thwarted  by  the  actual,  or  to  the  insincere 
and  affected  cry  of  self-torture  inflicted  to  pam 
per  a  luxurious  sensibility. 

The  matter  is  comparatively  simple  in  most 
of  the  early  poems.  In  his  first  book,  a  slender 
volume  of  lyrics  and  translations  printed  when 
he  was  nineteen,  no  fewer  than  thirteen  of  the 
original  poems  contain  heart-broken  farewells 
to  young  ladies  who  have  proved  hard-hearted 
or  faithless,  or  have  died  or  gone  away.  The 
following  stanzas,  gathered  here  and  there  in 
the  volume,  will  recall  the  prevailing  mood : 

Who  can  conceive,  who  has  not  proved, 
The  anguish  of  a  last  embrace  ? 
When,  torn  from  all  you  fondly  loved, 
You  bid  a  long  adieu  to  peace. 

(To  Emma.) 

Again,  thou  best  beloved,  adieu  I 
Ah  !  if  thou  canst,  o'ercome  regret ; 
Nor  let  thy  mind  past  joys  review,  — 
Our  only  hope  is  to  regret !  — 

(To  Caroline,} 

Oh !  when,  my  adored,  in  the  tomb  will  they  place  me, 
Since,  in  life,  love  and  friendship  for  ever  are  fled  ? 
If  again  in  the  mansion  of  death  I  embrace  thee, 
Perhaps  they  will  leave  unmolested  the  dead. 

(To  Caroline.} 

Calf-love  is  supposed  to  be  a  normal  childish 


SENTIMENTALISM   IN  POETRY  231 

ailment,  no  more  to  be  taken  tragically  than 
German  measles  or  chicken  pox,  but  few  calves 
are  as  determined  as  this  to  suck  melancholy 
out  of  its  frustration.  Already,  before  nineteen, 
this  passion-tost  soul  is  beginning  to  lose  zest, 
and  we  have  the  pathetic  spectacle  of  a  blase 
calf : 

And  woman,  lovely  woman  !  them, 
My  hope,  my  comforter,  my  all ! 
How  cold  must  be  my  bosom  now, 
When  e'en  thy  smiles  begin  to  pall ! 

(/  would  I  were  a  careless  child.) 

Not  only  love,  but  friendship  and  the 
"bowl"  have  ceased  to  charm,  and  solitude 
alone  attracts : 

Fain  would  I  fly  the  haunts  of  men  — 
I  seek  to  shun,  not  hate  mankind ; 
My  breast  requires  the  sullen  glen, 
Whose  gloom  may  suit  a  darken'd  mind. 

(Ibid.) 

He  is  not  merely  despondent :  he  has  passed, 
though  as  yet  only  temporarily,  to  the  senti 
mentalist's  inevitable  development — cynicism.  / 
He  is  fain  to 

Confess  that  woman 's  false  as  fair, 

And  friends  have  feeling  for  —  themselves. 

(To  Romance.) 

Nay,  more,  he  looks  back  critically  on  his 


232  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

sentimental  moods,  and  diagnoses  the  disease 
he  has  suffered  from : 

Romance  !  disgusted  with  deceit, 
Far  from  thy  motley  court  I  fly, 
Where  Affectation  holds  her  seat, 
And  sickly  Sensibility  ; 
Whose  silly  tears  can  never  flow 
For  any  pangs  excepting  thine  ; 
Who  turns  aside  from  real  woe, 
To  steep  in  dew  thy  gaudy  shrine. 

(To  Romance.") 

This  lucid  interval  of  self-criticism  lasted 
only  a  moment,  and  Byron  continued  his  lyrics 
of  forced  passion  and  affected  self-pity.  The 
lash  of  the  reviewers,  however,  stung  him  into 
another  mood,  and  in  his  early  satires,  bare 
of  any  idealistic  element  though  they  are,  he 
appears  in  a  more  manly  attitude,  and  displays 
flashes  of  that  wit  that  was  later  to  illumine 
his  masterpiece.  Then  came  the  first  cantos 
of  Childe  Harold.  The  plan  of  this  poem, 
a  record  of  travel  with  reflections,  or  rather 
emotional  reactions,  on  the  peoples  and  places 
visited,  lies  open  to  the  criticism  that  it  affords 
a  constant  temptation  to  work  up  the  feeling 
when  it  happens  not  to  spring  up  spontan 
eously.  To  this  temptation  Byron  of  ten  enough 
fell  a  victim,  especially  in  the  first  part  of  the 
poem ;  and  its  sentimental  tone  was  increased 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY  233 

by  his  choice  of  a  hero  who  reproduced  pre 
cisely  those  characteristics  of  the  blase  pleasure- 
seeker,  embittered  and  misanthropic,  which 
Byron  cherished  in  himself.  Yet  the  poet  was 
not  nearly  so  bad  as  he  imagined  himself,  and 
as  his  pilgrimage  proceeds  there  is  not  only 
a  steady  improvement  in  the  eloquence  and 
fluency  of  the  versification,  and  in  the  bril 
liance  and  vivacity  of  the  language,  but  more 
and  more  evidence  of  genuine  emotion.  The 
graves  of  heroes  who  perished  in  the  fight  for 
liberty,  the  scenes  of  vanished  greatness,  the 
spectacle  of  magnificent  scenery  rouse  in  him 
enthusiasm,  indignation,  and  admiration  too 
real  to  be  questioned,  and  created  not  merely 
by  the  presence  of  the  facts,  but  by  a  vivid 
imaginative  seizure  of  their  larger  significance. 
Even  the  cheapening  effect  of  constant  repe 
tition  in  the  schoolbooks  and  anthologies  can 
not  make  his  great  passages  so  hackneyed  that 
they  fail  to  call  forth  the  response  due  to  gen 
uine  romantic  poetry. 

The  group  of  romantic  tales  published  be 
tween  the  second  and  third  cantos  of  Childe 
Harold  occupies  a  middle  position  also  in  the 
matter  of  the  transition  from  sentimentalism 
to  romanticism.  As  we  re-read  these  Oriental 


234  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

stories  of  love  and  hate  to-day,  perhaps  the  thing 
that  impresses  us  most  in  them  is  their  unreal 
ity.  This  does  not  apply  to  the  descriptions 
of  nature,  or  to  the  digressions  upon  fallen  na 
tions,  for  in  these  Byron  often  deserves  the 
praise  due  to  similar  passages  in  Childe  Har 
old  ;  but  the  stories  themselves  are  chiefly  re 
markable  for  their  remoteness  from  life.  It 
takes  an  effort  to  conceive  how  our  grandfathers 
and  grandmothers  were  carried  away  by  sym 
pathy  for  the  raptures  and  the  sorrows  of  these 
most  theatrical  Selims  and  Zuleikas.  The  ro 
mance  in  them  lies  in  the  situation  rather  than 
in  the  human  nature :  and  the  hero  is  not  so 
much  Byron  himself,  as  is  usually  said,  as  he 
is  a  copy  of  what  Byron  so  often  chose  to  por 
tray  as  himself,  a  reproduction  of  his  favorite 
pose.  From  time  to  time  the  vigor  of  the  nar 
rative,  the  picturesqueness  of  the  scene,  the 
bound  of  the  metre  convince  us  that  the  poet 
has  really  entered  into  his  conception,  that  im 
agination  is  in  control,  and  that  he  is  carried 
away  by  the  romantic  mood.  But  often,  too, 
it  is  easier  to  think  of  the  author  as  the  show 
man,  pulling  the  wires  of  his  puppets,  and 
sneering  at  the  public  whom  he  can  so  easily 
delude  with  his  ventriloquism  of  passion. 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY  235 

The  truth  is,  I  imagine,  between  these  ex 
tremes:  the  poems  are  neither  quite  genuine 
nor  pure  humbug,  but  the  result  of  the  com 
plex  temperament  of  a  man  who  found  pleasure 
in  letting  himself  go,  who  submitted  to  an  il 
lusion  which  it  pleased  him  to  indulge  and,  at 
times,  deliberately  to  create.  But  in  these  poems 
it  is  of tenest  a  more  or  less  theatrical  i 
not  that  compelling  and  irresistible  imagina 
tive  vision  which  has  produced  the  greater 
romantic  masterpieces. 

There  remain  the  dramas  and  Don  Juan. 
Of  the  former  we  have  here  little  to  say :  for 
though  the  limitation  of  Byron's  imaginative 
range  in  the  matter  of  types  of  human  character 
has  prevented  him  from  becoming  one  of  the 
great  dramatists,  yet  his  choice  of  heroes  with 
whom  he  could  sympathize  made  it  possible 
for  him  to  express  their  moods  and  aspirations 
with  an  impressive  sincerity,  and  rendered  un 
necessary  the  effort  to  work  up  an  emotion  he 
did  not  feel.  No  part  of  his  whole  production 
is  so  clear  of  sentimentalism  as  his  plays. 

Don  Juan  presents  the  most  interesting 
problem  of  all.  Written  between  the  ages  of 
thirty  and  thirty -six,  it  not  only  exhibits 
Byron's  powers  in  their  maturity,  but  also  in 


236  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

all  their  variety.  Sentiment  and  passion,  wit 
and  humor,  scorn  and  enthusiasm,  all  find 
expression  in  the  ever-changing  moods  of  the 
poem  ;  and  nowhere  are  the  poet's  amazing 
cleverness,  eloquence,  brilliance,  and  dash  more 
lavishly  employed. 

Though  primarily  a  satire,  Don  Juan  is  rich 
in  sentiment.  The  episode  of  Haidee,  which 
occupies  more  than  two  cantos,  is  narrated  with 
abundance  of  sympathy,  and  Byron  shows  gen 
uine  tenderness  for  his  creation.  And,  at  inter 
vals  throughout  the  whole  book,  the  cynicism 
and  the  satire  are  dropped,  and  delicate  and 
touching  stanzas  occur,  finer  in  texture  than 
the  exaggerated  emotions  of  his  early  work. 

Oh,  Hesperus  !  thou  bringest  all  good  things  — 

Home  to  the  weary,  to  the  hungry  cheer, 
To  the  young  bird  the  parent's  brooding  wings, 
The  welcome  stall  to  the  o'erlabour'd  steer  ; 
Whate'er  of  peace  about  our  hearthstone  clings, 
Whate'er  our  household  gods  protect  of  dear, 
Are  gather'd  round  us  by  thy  look  of  rest  ; 
Thou  bring'st  the  child,  too,  to  the  mother's  breast. 

(Canto  m,  st.  cvii.) 

Sentiment,  I  think,  is  the  right  word  for  the 
sympathetic  emotion  in  this  poem  as  a  whole ; 
for  though  he  describes  raptures  galore,  I  do 
not  feel  that  the  emotional  intensity  of  the 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY  237 

love  scenes  ever  really  rises  to  passion.  Vivid 
and  brilliant  as  is  his  imagination  in  the  pictur 
ing  of  the  relations  of  Juan  and  the  pirate's 
daughter,  the  degree  of  intensity  is  lower  than 
that  exhibited  on  the  satirical  side  of  his  work ; 
and  he  damns  the  hypocrisy  of  the  English 
with  more  real  zest  than  he  sings  the  charm  of 
the  lovely  Greek.  Take  a  stanza  or  two  as  near 
to  the  height  of  passion  as  the  poem  ever  rises : 

She  loved,  and  was  beloved  —  she  adored, 

And  she  was  worshipp'd  ;  after  nature's  fashion, 

Their  intense  souls,  into  each  other  pour'd, 

If  souls  could  die,  had  perish'd  in  that  passion,  — 

But  by  degrees  their  senses  were  restored, 
Again  to  be  o'ercome,  again  to  dash  on  ; 

And,  beating  'gainst  his  bosom,  Haidee's  heart 

Felt  as  if  never  more  to  beat  apart.  .  .  . 

And  now 't  was  done  —  on  the  lone  shore  were  plighted 
Their  hearts  ;  the  stars,  their  nuptial  torches,  shed 

Beauty  upon  the  beautiful  they  lighted  : 
Ocean  their  witness,  and  the  cave  their  bed, 

By  their  own  feelings  hallow'd  and  united, 
Their  priest  was  Solitude,  and  they  were  wed  : 

And  they  were  happy,  for  to  their  young  eyes 

Each  was  an  angel,  and  earth  paradise. 

(Canto  u,  st  cxci,  cciv.) 

If  the  reader  does  not  at  once  perceive  the 
limitation  in  such  passages  as  these  which 
forces  us  to  call  the  feeling  they  rouse  in 
reader  sentiment  rather  than  passion,  let 


238  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

him  call  to  mind  Shakespeare's  treatment  of 
the  same  theme  (for,  of  course,  Byron  is  seek 
ing  to  describe  passion  in  the  lovers),  and  re 
peat  to  himself  Juliet's  lines  beginning 

Gallop  apace,  you  fiery-footed  steeds, 

or  Romeo's  on  his  first  sight  of  Juliet, 

O,  she  doth  teach  the  torches  to  burn  bright, 

and  the  distinction  here  insisted  on  will  be 
come  immediately  apparent.  Both  Byron's  and 
Shakespeare's  stories  end  disastrously;  but  be 
cause  of  this  difference  Haidee's  death  closes 
a  pathetic  idyll,  Juliet's  a  great  tragedy. 

There  are  several  reasons  why  the  non-sa 
tirical  parts  of  Don  Juan,  like  the  romantic 
tales  of  Byron,  fail  to  reach  the  level  of  the 
great  poems  of  passion.  One  is  that  Byron's 
imagination,  though  active,  was  not  capable 
of  the  loftiest  flights,  and  did  not  operate  with 
the  intensity  required  to  kindle  his  reader  to 
the  highest  degree  of  rapture.  Byron  was  surely 
a  poet,  and  he  was  a  great  writer;  but  his 
greatness  as  a  writer  rests  upon  much  besides 
purely  poetical  qualities.  He  is  one  more  proof 
(as  Landor,  we  saw,  was  also)  that  a  theme 
dealing  with  passion,  and  a  passionate  person 
ality  in  the  poet,  do  not  necessarily  produce 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN   POETRY          239 

passionate  poetry.  Another  reason  is  the  per 
vading  spirit  of  satire  in  the  poem  as  a  whole. 
Through  descriptions  of  scenery,  wild  adven 
ture,  and  tender  emotion,  the  satirical  spirit  is 
ever  hovering  in  the  background,  never  long  out 
of  sight.  Byron  had  found  out  his  sentimental 
weakness  and,  in  his  determination  never  to 
be  laughed  at  for  it  again,  he  is  prompt  to 
laugh  first.  This  had  a  good  and  a  bad  effect  : 
the  sentiment  in  Don  Juan  is  never  allowed 
to  become  sentimentalism  ;  neither  can  it  ever 
rise  to  genuine  passion.  A  single  instance  will 
recall  the  almost  mechanical  device  by  which 
these  results  come  about : 

"  Farewell,  my  Spain!  a  long  farewell !  "  he  cried, 
"  Perhaps  I  may  revisit  thee  no  more, 

But  die,  as  many  an  exiled  heart  hath  died, 
Of  its  own  thirst  to  see  again  thy  shore  : 

Farewell,  where  Guadalquiver's  waters  glide  ! 
Farewell,  my  mother!  and,  since  all  is  o'er, 

Farewell,  too,  dearest  Julia  !  "  —  (here  he  drew 

Her  letter  out  again,  and  read  it  through.) 

11  And  oh  !  if  e'er  I  should  forget,  I  swear  — 

But  that 's  impossible,  and  cannot  be  — 
Sooner  shall  this  blue  ocean  melt  to  air, 

Sooner  shall  earth  resolve  itself  to  sea, 
Than  I  resign  thine  image,  oh,  my  fair  ! 
Or  think  of  anything,  excepting  thee ; 
A  mind  diseased  no  remedy  can  physic  "  — 
(Here  the  ship  gave  a  lurch,  and  he  grew  sea-sick.) 
(Canto  n,  st.  xviii,  xix.) 


240  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Sentimentalism  and  sustained  passion  are 
equally  impossible  in  a  tale  narrated  in  this 
spirit  and  by  these  methods.  By  these  methods, 
then,  and  at  this  cost,  did  Byron  free  himself 
from  the  vice  of  sentimentalism. 

Before  closing  our  discussion  of  this  quality, 
it  seems  worth  while  to  add  a  word  on  the  re 
lation  of  sentimentalism  to  what  is  known  as 
sensationalism  in  art.  We  have  seen  that  the 
former  is  due  to  the  cultivation  of  the  tender 
feelings  for  the  sake  of  a  personal  emotional 
satisfaction  ;  the  latter  is  a  parallel  tendency 
which  seeks  emotional  excitement  by  the  culti 
vation  of  the  grosser  feelings.  Not  the  pathos 
of  delicate  sensibility,  but  the  shock  from  vio 
lent  external  incident  is  the  material  of  the  sen 
sationalist.  Horror,  terror,  frightful  suspense, 
crude  supernaturalism,  bloodshed,  crime,  — 
these  and  their  like  does  he  accumulate,  not 
in  the  realist's  zeal  to  tell  the  whole  truth 
about  human  life,  nor  in  the  romanticist's  vi 
sion  of  the  awe-inspiring  elements  which  may 
form  the  motives  or  the  consequences  of  hu 
man  action ;  but  in  a  determination  to  thrill 
at  all  costs.  As  a  defective  form  of  art,  it  is 
not  fundamentally  different  from  sentimental- 


SENTIMENTALISM  IN  POETRY          241 

ism,  in  that  it  sacrifices  truth  and  sincerity  for 
the  sake  of  emotional  dissipation ;  only  its 
methods  are  cruder  and  more  violent,  and  it 
results  psychologically  not  in  the  hypersensi- 
tiveness  of  the  sentimentalist,  but  in  the  blunt 
ing  of  the  very  sensibilities  which  make  its 
appeal  possible.  It  thus  soon  defeats  its  own 
ends,  and  its  periodic  recurrences  in  the  history 
of  any  art  are  likely  to  be  short  lived. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HUMOR  IN  POETRY 


IN  several  of  the  foregoing  discussions,  not 
ably  those  on  satire  and  on  the  correctives  of 
sentimentalism,  we  have  had  occasion  to  touch 
on  the  element  of  humor.  Enough  has  proba 
bly  already  been  said  in  these  connections  to 
point  to  the  desirability  of  some  more  detailed 
study  of  the  general  relations  of  poetry  and 
humor.  One  approaches  the  subject  with  con 
siderable  hesitation,  because,  abundant  as  are 
the  critical  treatises  on  either  subject,  it  is  hard 
to  find  any  serious  attempt  to  deal  with  the  one 
as  an  element  in  the  other,  or  to  discuss  how 
the  presence  of  humor  affects  the  more  con 
stant  and  fundamental  factors  of  poetry.  On 
our  previous  topics  there  have  been  authorities 
whom  we  could  follow  when  we  saw  fit;  here 
we  have  not  even  any  one  to  differ  from. 

In  the  use  of  the  term  "  humor"  hitherto, 
the  orthodox  view  has  been  assumed,  that  its 
essence  lies  in  the  perception  of  incongruity, 
using  this  phrase  in  the  widest  possible  sense. 


HUMOR  IN   POETRY  243 

I  shall  continue  to  make  this  assumption,  and 
shall  use  the  word  to  denote  all  the  more  im 
portant  forms  in  which  the  ludicrous  appears 
in  literature.  There  is,  of  course,  a  more  lim 
ited  sense,  in  which  humor  is  contrasted  with 
wit,  or  with  irony,  or  with  satire  ;  and  in 
which  geniality,  or  sympathy,  or  kindliness 
may  be  regarded  as  essentials ;  but  for  the 
present  purpose  we  need  the  more  comprehen 
sive  sense.  Some  of  the  finer  distinctions  may 
develop  as  we  proceed. 

The  difficulty  which  first  meets  us  may  per 
haps  be  best  realized  if  the  reader  tries  to  call  to 
mind  a  line  of  undoubted  high  poetic  quality 
which  is  distinctly  humorous,  and  in  which  the 
poetry  and  humor  are  not  successive  but  in 
terfused.  It  is  not  very  hard  to  find  humorous 
lines  in  good  poetry,  or  poetical  lines  in  hu 
morous  verse ;  but  the  single  lines  showing 
both  qualities  in  a  high  degree  and  simultan 
eously  is  rarer.  Such  lists  of  examples  of  great 
poetry  as  Matthew  Arnold's  "  touchstones " 
are  useless  here,  and  one  will  search  volumes 
of  "Poetic  Gems"  in  vain.  As  You  Like  It 
is  a  brilliant  example  of  a  comedy  abounding 
in  both  humor  and  poetry,  but  what  line 
could  be  cited  from  it  to  illustrate  both  ?  Take 


244  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

the  most  famous  speech  in  it  —  that  begin 
ning,  "  All  the  world 's  a  stage."  It  is  spoken 
by  Jaques,  who  is  generally  taken  as  a  hu 
morous  character ;  and  hardly  any  piece  of 
poetry  written  by  Shakespeare  seems  to  have 
had  a  wider  appeal.  Its  poetical  merit  consists 
in  the  series  of  vivid  images  of  human  types, 
brought  before  us  in  language  of  unsurpassable 
aptness  and  conciseness.  It  contains  no  lofty 
flight  of  the  imagination  :  the  general  concep 
tion  enclosing  this  series  of  images  is  the 
commonplace  one  of  the  world  as  a  theatre,  a 
comparison  hackneyed  centuries  before  Shake 
speare,  obvious  to  begin  with,  and  never  very 
true.  Its  humorous  element  lies  in  the  ludicrous 
view  of  human  nature  presented  to  us  :  infant, 
schoolboy,  lover,  soldier,  justice,  pantaloon, 
dotard,  —  all  appear  more  or  less  absurd,  ridic 
ulous  because  of  some  contrast  between  appear 
ance  and  reality,  all  included  in  the  general 
incongruity  between  such  contemptible  figures 
and  the  supposed  dignity  of  human  nature. 
The  humor,  that  is,  is  the  humor  of  cynicism, 
the  favorite  method  of  which  is  an  exaggerated 
realism.  A  typical  line  is  that  on  the  lover  :  , 

Sighing  like  furnace,  with  a  woful  ballad 
Made  to  his  mistress'  eyebrow. 


HUMOR  IN  POETRY  245 

The  humor  here  is  undeniable,  but  you  would 
hardly  quote  it  to  show  what  you  mean  by 
high  poetical  quality. 

Yet  the  consideration  of  this  case  may  bfc 
made  to  throw  light  on  the  situation.  The 
perception  of  incongruity  involves,  first,  the 
use  of  our  critical  faculties,  and  of  the  rational 
and  normal  as  standards  of  judgment.  It  is 
not  likely  then  to  be  notably  absent  from  poetry 
in  which  the  rational  element  predominates ; 
and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  humor  has  flourished 
in  classical  periods.  Thus  there  seems  to  be 
no  antipathy  between  humor  and  that  element 
of  poetry  we  have  called  reason. 

Again,  a  frequent  source  of  humor  is  the 
incongruity  between  appearance  and  reality, 
between  the  pretence  and  the  fact.  A  strong 
sense  of  fact,  then,  though  by  no  means  al 
ways  accompanied  by  humor,  is  by  no  means 
incompatible  with  it.  We  have  just  seen  Jaques 
producing  his  piece  of  cynical  humor  by  hold 
ing  up  the  unseemly  facts  of  human  life  in 
implied  contrast  with  our  racial  self-esteem, 
and  earlier  we  discussed  a  triumph  of  humorous 
realism  in  The  Jolly  Beggars.  Here  also  we  find 
no  antipathy  between  humor  and  that  element? 
of  poetry  we  have  called  the  sense  of  fact. 


246  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

The  most  frequent  literary  form  in  which 
humor  is  a  necessary  component  is  Satire ;  and 
we  have  already  seen  that  satire  is  sometimes 
characterized  by  a  predominance  of  the  ra 
tional,  as  in  the  satire  of  types;  sometimes 
by  a  predominance  of  the  realistic,  as  in  the 
satire  of  individuals.  But  it  has  also  been  ob 
served  that  satire  is  of  all  widely  cultivated 
verse  forms  perhaps  that  which  most  often 
raises  the  question  as  to  its  right  to  be  called 
poetry  at  all.  The  reason  of  this  is,  of  course, 
its  liability  to  be  deficient  in  the  remaining 
essential  element,  imagination  :  so  that  we  have 
here  an  indication  that  the  difficulty  in  find 
ing  short  passages  showing  the  co-existence  of 
humorous  and  poetical  qualities  may  lie  in  some 
peculiarity  of  the  relation  between  imagina 
tion  and  the  ludicrous. 

The  suggestion  given  here  finds  confirma 
tion  in  the  observation  that  characteristically 
romantic  poets  are  apt  to  be  very  serious. 
Spenser,  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Shelley, 
Keats,  are  all  highly  distinguished  for  their 
range  and  intensity  of  imagination :  none  of 
them  is  a  humorist.  Byron  is ;  but  we  have  al 
ready  seen  reason  to  question  his  claim  to  be  re 
garded  as  primarily  romantic,  and  to  view  him 


HUMOR  IN   POETRY  247 

as  largely  sentimentalist  and  realist.  In  his 
Oriental  tales,  and  in  Childe  Harold,  his  most 
distinctively  romantic  work,  there  is  rarely  a 
glimpse  of  humor.  We  may,  then,  take  it  as 
fairly  manifest  that  in  poetry  of  the  roman 
tic  sort,  and  especially  where  the  imagination 
is  of  the  creative  kind  and  works  intensely, 
humor  is  often  absent. 

The  explanation  of  this  has  already  sug 
gested  itself.  The  absorption  of  the  artist's 
powers  in  the  conceiving  of  large  syntheses, 
the  soaring  into  an  ideal  world  where  the  ac 
tivity  of  the  reasoning  and  perceptive  powers 
is  subordinated  to  the  imagination  and  reduced 
to  a  minimum,  is  usually  incompatible  with 
that  critical  detachment  which  is  essential  to 
the  perception  of  the  incongruous.  We  have 
insisted  that  in  well-balanced  poetry  this  pre 
dominance  of  the  imagination  should  not  be 
excessive,  that  the  powers  of  reason  and  obser 
vation  should  not  cease  to  be  exercised  ;  but 
in  the  instances  of  this  combination  previously 
analyzed,  they  are  exercised  as  regulative  and 
restraining  forces,  whereas  in  the  form  of  hu 
mor  they  are  apt  to  act  as  a  sudden  check, 
paralyzing  for  the  moment  the  wings  of  im 
agination,  and  producing  a  disturbing  effect 


248  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

D£  anti-climax.  This  is  precisely  the  result  so 
often  aimed  at  by  Byron  in  Don  Juan,  with 
disastrous  effect  on  the  feelings  of  the  reader 
who  has  unwarily  abandoned  himself  to  an 
imaginative  flight,  but  for  any  one  who  has 
caught  Byron's  spirit,  highly  comic.  This  was 
illustrated  in  the  stanzas  quoted  in  the  pre 
vious  chapter.  Another  instance  will  be 
found  in  the  lines  beginning, 

'T  is  sweet  to  hear 

At  midnight  on  the  blue  and  moonlit  deep 
The  song  and  oar  of  Adria's  gondolier, 
By  distance  mellow'd,  o'er  the  waters  sweep. 

Here  for  nearly  three  stanzas  the  poet  passes 
before  the  mind's  eye  a  succession  of  charm 
ing  images,  calling  up  a  variety  of  pleasing 
sentiments,  and  he  gives  them  imaginative 
unity  by  a  certain  similarity  of  tone.  Then 
suddenly,  with  an  apparent  continuation  of  the 
same  theme,  comes  a  complete  change  of  tone : 

Sweet  is  revenge  —  especially  to  women, 
Pillage  to  soldiers,  prize-money  to  seamen. 
Sweet  is  a  legacy  —  etc. 

(Canto  I,  st.  cxxiii-cxxvi.) 

From  the  enumeration  of  the  sweet  and  ten 
der  pleasures  that  appeal  to  the  finer  elements 
in  human  nature  we  turn  to  an  incongruous 
list  of  base  and  sordid  satisfactions;  we  are 


HUMOR  IN   POETRY  249 

awakened  with  a  jolt  from  an  ideal  reverie  by 
the  intrusion  of  realistic  observations;  we  de 
scend  from  poetry  to  satirical  humor.  Some 
stanzas  contain  both  humor  and  poetry ;  but 
when  the  humor  comes  in,  the  poetry  goes 
out. 

II 

The  mutual  exclusiveness  of  humor  and  im 
aginative  poetry  is  not  always  so  absolute  as 
it  is  in  such  instances  as  these.  When  we  do 
find  them  more  intimately  associated,  so  that 
no  clear  succession  or  alternation  of  moods  like 
this  in  Byron  can  be  detected,  the  humor  is 
likely  to  be  of  that  specific  kind  to  which  the 
meaning  of  the  word  is  often  limited,  the  gen 
ial  humor  that  combines  with  the  sense  of  the 
ludicrous  an  underlying  sympathy ;  the  humor 
which  loses  its  venom,  but  not  its  point,  because 
it  involves  a  profound  feeling  of  tenderness 
and  tolerance  for  our  common  human  nature. 
Shakespeare  often  exhibits  this  humor,  and  at 
times  we  find  it  in  combination  with  true  im 
aginative  poetry. 

But  man,  proud  man, 
Dress'd  in  a  little  brief  authority, 
Most  ignorant  of  what  he  'a  most  assur'd, 
His  glassy  essence,  like  an  angry  ape, 


250  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

Plays  such  fantastic  tricks  before  high  heaven 
As  makes  the  angels  weep  ;  who,  with  our  spleens, 
Would  all  themselves  laugh  mortal. 

(Measure  for  Measure,  II,  ii,  117.) 

Such  a  speech  as  this,  it  is  true,  does  not  in 
duce  laughter ;  but  it  is  suffused  none  the  less 
with  a  keen  sense  of  the  incongruity  between 
man's  pretensions  and  the  truth,  and  belongs 
to  a  well-recognized  type  of  humor.  It  is  not 
necessary  to  argue  that  it  is  lofty  poetry. 
Furthermore,  the  imaginative  element  and  the 
humorous  do  not  play  Box  and  Cox  as  in 
Byron,  but  coexist  in  the  whole  passage ;  and 
their  harmony  is  made  possible  through  the 
element  of  sympathy  —  in  itself  largely  im 
aginative  —  which  enriches  the  poetry,  and 
lifts  it  above  the  level  of  ordinary  satire  that 
merely  stings.  More  genial  examples  can  be 
found  in  the  works  of  Burns,  the  British  poet 
who,  outside  of  the  drama,  succeeds  best,  per 
haps,  in  fusing  the  two  elements  under  dis 
cussion.  His  Tarn  o'  Shanter  is  an  admirable 
example  of  imaginative  realism  suffused  with 
humor,  and  in  such  a  picture  as  that  of  the 
hero's  home, 

Where  sits  our  sulky,  sullen  dame, 
Gathering  her  brows  like  gathering  storm, 
Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm, 


HUMOR  IN  POETRY  251 

we  have  all  the  characteristic  qualities  of  the 
poem  illustrated  in  three  lines.  Another  in 
stance  is  in  the  bacchanalian  song  already 
quoted  in  another  connection: 

It  is  the  moon,  I  ken  her  horn, 
That 's  blinkin  in  the  lift  sae  hie  ; 
She  shines  sae  bright  to  wyle  us  hame, 
But,  by  my  sooth,  she  '11  wait  a  wee. 

The  half-drunken  drollery  of  the  stanza  is 
irresistibly  humorous;  yet  it  contains  also  a 
distinct  imaginative  element,  and  that  not 
purely  recollective. 

It  is  through  this  sympathetic  element  in 
humor,  taking  it  for  the  time  in  the  more 
special  sense,  that  it  is  brought  into  its  famil 
iar  relation  with  pathos.  Besides  surrounding 
and  enveloping  the  perception  of  the  incon 
gruous  with  tolerance  and  kindliness,  this  sym 
pathy  opens  the  heart  to  feelings  of  compas 
sion,  and  renders  it  more  responsive  when  the 
images  presented  pull  on  the  cords  of  associa 
tion.  This  process  is  illustrated  with  especial 
frequency  in  poetry  dealing  with  childhood, 
where  the  sources  of  humor  and  pathos  lie 
very  close  together  in  the  sense  of  the  con 
trast  between  effort  and  accomplishment  on 
the  one  hand,  and  pity  for  a  helpless  little 


252  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

bit  of  humanity  on  the  other.  Shakespeare's 
treatment  of  children  nearly  always  combines 
the  two  elements.  Take,  for  example,  the  scene 
between  Hubert  and  the  little  Prince  Arthur 
in  King  John: 

Arih.  Must  you  with  hot  irons  burn  out  both  mine  eyes  ? 

Hub.  Young  boy,  I  must. 

Arih.  And  will  you  ? 

Hub.  And  I  will. 

Arih.  Have  you  the  heart  ?  When  your  head  did  but  ache, 

I  knit  my  handkercher  about  your  brows, 

The  best  I  had,  a  princess  wrought  it  me, 

And  I  did  never  ask  it  you  again  ; 

And  with  my  hand  at  midnight  held  your  head, 

And  like  the  watchful  minutes  to  the  hour, 

Still  and  anon  cheer'd  up  the  heavy  time, 

Saying,  '  What  lack  you  ? '  and  '  Where  lies  your  grief  ? ' 

Or,  '  What  good  love  may  I  perform  for  you  ? ' 

Many  a  poor  man's  son  would  have  lien  still 

And  ne'er  have  spoke  a  loving  word  to  you  ; 

But  you  at  your  sick  service  had  a  prince. 

(Act  iv,  sc.  i,  vv.  39  ff.) 

With  the  sheer  pathos  of  this  passage  is 
mingled  a  tender  vein  of  humor  in  the  little 
faults  in  taste  of  the  boy,  as  when  he  shows 
how  well  he  remembers  his  own  kindnesses. 
In  the  treatment  of  the  little  princes  in  Rich 
ard  Illy  of  the  young  Martius  in  Corio- 
lanus,  and  of  the  boy  Mamilius  in  Winter's 
Tale  we  find  this  strain  of  wistful  humor 


HUMOR  IN  POETRY  253 

reappearing  amidst  the  terror  or  the  sadness 
of  the  situation. 

The  effect  of  such  humor  is  not,  however, 
completely  accounted  for  if  we  think  of  it  as 
merely  the  result  of  the  adding  together  of 
the  usual  reactions  from  the  two  elements 
of  the  humorous  and  the  pathetic.  It  is  not  the 
sum  but  the  product  of  the  two  qualities.  In 
some  types  of  cases,  at  least,  there  is  a  more 
subtle  interaction,  by  which  the  specific  effect 
which  either  element  would  produce  in  isola 
tion  is  greatly  intensified  by  the  presence  of 
the  other.  One  of  the  elements  seems  to  pro 
duce  in  the  mind  of  the  reader  a  degree  of 
sensitiveness  which  makes  it  respond  to  the 
appeal  of  the  other  much  more  powerfully 
than  it  would  do  to  it  alone ;  and  this  service 
is  reciprocal.  Humor  in  such  circumstances  is 
much  more  keen;  pathos  gains  poignancy, 
even  from  a  mere  jest. 

"  Courage,  man,"  says  Romeo  to  the 
wounded  Mercutio;  "the  hurt  cannot  be 
much." 

"No,"  answers  the  irrepressible  gallant, 
"  't  is  not  so  deep  as  a  well,  nor  so  wide  as  a 
church -door;  but  'tis  enough,  'twill  serve. 
Ask  for  me  to-morrow,  and  you  shall  find  mo 


254  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

a  grave  man."  The  irony  in  the  first  sentence 
and  the  poor  pun  in  the  second,  apart  from 
the  tragic  situation,  would  be  futile  enough: 
in  their  setting,  they  outshine  Mercutio's  most 
brilliant  repartees  in  the  comedy  scenes.  On 
the  other  side,  nothing  could  make  the  death 
of  Mercutio  more  moving  than  that  he  should 
pass  with  a  jest  on  his  lips.  Similar,  but  more 
terrible,  is  the  use  of  the  grotesque  humor  of 
Edgar  and  the  Fool  in  the  scene  of  the  storm 
in  King  Lear,  where  the  terror  and  pity  of 
the  situation  are  intensified  by  its  flashes,  as 
the  darkness  of  that  night  is  intensified  by 
the  lightning  as  it  forks  and  quivers  through 
the  tempest.  And  even  in  the  last  scene  it 
glimmers  faintly  but  effectively  in  the  gloom 
of  a  tragic  close  already  well  nigh  intolerable. 

Ill 

We  have  come  far  from  our  original  starting 
point  of  the  apparent  incompatibility  of  humor 
and  imagination.  In  most  cases  we  have  seen 
that  when  the  same  line  or  phrase  exhibited 
both  elements  in  intimate  relation,  it  was  to 
be  accounted  for  by  the  presence  of  the  com 
mon  element  of  sympathetic  insight;  but  the 
examples  last  cited  point  to  another  class  of 


HUMOR  IN  POETRY  265 

circumstances,  where  both  elements  are  present 
and  mutually  strengthening,  but  where  the 
field  of  operation  is  less  restricted.  This  class 
calls  for  a  more  ample  treatment. 

Among  the  other  limitations  of  Matthew 
Arnold's  essay  on  The  Study  of  Poetry,  al 
ready  discussed,  is  the  neglect  of  the  element 
of  structure  in  art.  One  objection  to  the  sug 
gestion  made  above,  that  the  reader  should 
think  of  a  line  of  verse  at  once  pointedly  hu 
morous  and  highly  poetic,  applies  also  to  his 
method  of  testing  poetry  in  general  by  the 
style  of  the  single  line  or  short  passage.  The 
artistic  quality,  especially  in  classical  art,  re 
sides  as  well  in  the  whole  design  as  in  the 
workmanship  of  the  detail :  a  piece  of  marble, 
or  the  carving  on  the  capital  of  a  column,  is 
hardly  sufficient  evidence  for  judging  the  ef 
fect  of  a  cathedral.  Many  a  drama  is  a  genu 
ine  poetic  creation,  although  it  may  be  simple 
to  the  point  of  baldness  in  diction,  and  exhibit 
the  fundamental  qualities  of  poetry  only  in  the 
characterization  and  in  the  significance,  pro 
portion,  and  verisimilitude  of  the  plot.  It  is 
not  unconnected  with  the  ignoring  of  this  ele 
ment  by  Arnold,  that  he  has  nothing  to  say 
of  humor  in  his  essay,  and  that  he  conse* 


256  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

quently  does  such  scant  justice  to  Chaucer  and 
Burns.  For  both  the  humor  and  the  poetical 
quality  of  these  authors  are  to  be  found  often 
in  the  large  conception  rather  than  in  the 
specific  passage.  Even  in  the  Shakespearean 
passages  just  cited,  these  elements  are  felt 
only  when  one  has  a  grasp  on  the  situation  or 
the  character  as  a  whole,  and  are  by  no  means 
dependent  on  mere  felicity  of  phrase.  This  is 
still  more  marked  in  the  field  of  comedy.  Fal- 
staff  is  surely  a  vital  poetical  creation,  in 
tensely  conceived  and  highly  idealized;  but 
it  is  not  in  the  intention  of  the  author  to 
make  him  talk  poetry,  as,  say,  Perdita  or  Lear 
talks  poetry. 

Nor  is  this  entirely  to  be  accounted  for  by 
the  fact  that  these  are  characters  in  drama, 
and  must  speak  in  character.  The  same  thing 
holds  of  much  of  Chaucer,  of  the  more  realis 
tic  descriptions  of  the  pilgrims  in  the  Pro 
logue,  and  of  those  tales  that  are  especially 
humorous.  In  The  Jolly  Beggars,  too,  the 
"  splendid  and  puissant "  effect  which  Arnold 
felt,  but  did  not  analyze,  is  the  result  of  the 
elevating  of  sordid  realistic  description  through 
intense  imaginative  sympathy,  combined  with 
a  buoyant  hilarity.  In  such  work  both  humor 


HUMOR  IN  POETRY  267 

and  poetry  need  room,  and  we  search  it  in 
vain  for  those 

jewels  five-words-long 
That  on  the  stretch'd  forefinger  of  all  Time, 
Sparkle  forever. 

IV 

The  form  of  humor  known  as  irony  has 
certain  peculiarities  that  call  for  special  treat- 
ment.  The  humorous  element  in  irony  lies  in 
the  incongruity  between  the  apparent  and  the 
real.  In  irony  as  a  mere  figure  of  speech,  the 
apparent  is  the  superficial  meaning  of  an  ut 
terance,  the  real  is  the  hidden  intention  of 
the  speaker.  Thus  in  Twelfth  Night  (iv,  i,  1), 
the  Clown  meets  Sebastian  and  mistakes  him 
for  Cesario  (i.e.,  Viola),  and  the  following  dia 
logue  ensues  : 

Clo.  Will  you  make  me  believe  that  I  am  not  sent  for  you  ? 

Seb.  Go  to,  go  to,  thou  art  a  foolish  fellow;  let  me  be 
clear  of  thee. 

Clo.  Well  held  out,  i'  faith!  No,  I  do  not  know  you  ;  nor 
I  am  not  sent  to  you  by  my  lady,  to  bid  you  come  speak  with 
her;  nor  your  name  is  not  Master  Cesario;  nor  this  is  not  my 
nose  neither.  Nothing  that  is  so  is  so. 

In  such  instances,  the  humor,  such  as  it  is,  is 
obvious  enough;  but  like  the  small  boy's 
"  You  're  a  dandy,"  it  is  used  mainly  for  em 
phasis,  and  commonly  has  nothing  to  do  with 


258  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

poetry.  Considerably  more  is  involved  in  what 
is  called  the  irony  of  events,  or  irony  of  cir 
cumstances.  Here  the  incongruity  lies  in  the 
contrast  between  the  superficial  reading  of  the 
trend  of  events,  and  the  actual  outcome,  often 
thought  of  as  predestined,  in  which  case  the 
phrase,  "irony  of  Fate,"  is  applied.  Periods 
of  great  political  turmoil,  like  the  Wars  of 
the  Roses,  or  the  French  Revolution,  are  full 
of  this  kind  of  irony,  cases  in  which  the  tri 
umphal  procession  turns  out  to  be  a  ride  to 
disgrace  or  death.  The  old  world  is  strewn 
with  instances  of  monumental  irony,  trophies 
bearing  inscriptions  setting  forth  the  invinci 
bility  of  warriors  who  have  long  since  met  de 
feat.  Dramatic  irony  is  merely  the  result  of 
a  device  by  which  the  playwright  arranges 
events  with  a  view  to  this  double  interpretation, 
the  dramatis  personce  taking  these  events  in 
one  sense,  while  the  audience  knows  that  the 
reverse  is  the  truth.  The  fifth  act  of  Borneo 
and  Juliet  opens  with  a  notable  instance  of 
this:  Romeo  is  in  Mantua,  and  with  the  fol 
lowing  words  opens  the  scene  after  that  in 
which  the  Capulets  have  been  mourning  the 
death  of  Juliet,  so  that  the  audience  is  fully 
conscious  of  the  desperate  state  of  the  case : 


HUMOR   IN   POETRY  259 

If  I  may  trust  the  flattering  truth  of  sleep, 

My  dreams  presage  some  joyful  news  at  hand. 

My  bosom's  lord  sits  lightly  in  his  throne, 

And  all  this  day  an  unaccustom'd  spirit 

Lifts  me  above  the  ground  with  cheerful  thoughts. 

I  dreamt  my  lady  came  and  found  me  dead  — 

Strange  dream,  that  gives  a  dead  man  leave  to  think  !  — - 

And  breath'd  such  life  with  kisses  in  my  lips, 

That  I  reviv'd,  and  was  an  emperor. 

Ah  me  !  how  sweet  is  love  itself  possessed, 

When  but  love's  shadows  are  so  rich  in  joy  ! 

And  while  he  speaks,  his  man  Balthazar  is 
at  the  threshold  with  the  fatal  news  from 
Verona.  This  is  a  clear  instance  of  dramatic 
irony  of  the  tragic  type.  It  can  be  reversed, 
and  the  character  may  anticipate  an  unfortu 
nate  ending,  while  the  audience  knows  that 
things  are  after  all  to  go  well  with  him.  Thus 
in  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Silvia, 
who  secretly  returns  the  love  of  Valentine, 
has  him  write  a  love-letter  on  her  behalf  to  a 
mythical  rival,  bids  him  keep  it  because  it  is 
not  passionate  enough,  and  amuses  the  audi 
ence  with  a  double-edged  dialogue  until,  with 
the  aid  of  the  clown,  Valentine  gradually 
realizes  that  his  lady  has  been  all  the  while 
making  love  to  him  through  himself.  This  is 
dramatic  irony  of  the  comic  type. 

In  these  later  instances,  whether  of  the  irony 


260  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

of  real  events  or  of  dramatic  irony,  we  are 
much  closer  to  poetry  than  in  merely  verbal 
irony;  for  a  full  appreciation  of  the  humor, 
grim  or  pathetic  or  merry,  calls  for  the  exer 
cise  of  the  imagination  in  holding  up  for 
simultaneous  observation  the  two  pictures,  the 
one  that  fills  the  eye  of  the  victim,  and  the  one 
that  represents  the  truth.  In  the  case  of  tragic 
irony  especially,  the  humor  tends  to  strengthen 
the  effect  of  the  fundamental  tragedy  in  the 
situation,  as  we  have  just  seen  that  more  direct 
forms  of  humor  do  in  other  cases.  Our  emo 
tion  at  the  spectacle  of  Romeo,  setting  out  on 
his  fatal  ride  from  Mantua  to  the  tomb  of 
Juliet,  is  made  much  more  poignant  by  the 
dramatist's  showing  him  buoyed  up  with  a 
groundless  exhilaration.  It  reminds  us  of  the 
futility  of  human  attempts  to  read  the  future; 
of  the  hopelessness  of  the  strife  between  the 
individual  and  circumstance ;  and  it  raises  the 
episode  to  the  level  of  the  universal. 

Sunt  lacrimae  rerum,  et  mentem  mortalia  tangunt. 

We  see,  then,  that  in  this  form  of  irony 
also  humor  and  imagination  may  unite  to  serve 
each  other  and  to  intensify  the  poetical  effect. 
But  it  must  at  the  same  time  be  admitted  that 


HUMOR  IN  POETRY  261 

much  of  the  employment  of  this,  as  of  other 
kinds  of  humor,  is  on  a  much  humbler  plane. 
Often  it  is  merely  verbal,  and,  as  in  the  case 
of  wit  in  the  narrower  sense  of  the  word,  while 
it  may  give  point  and  increase  the  entertaining 
power  of  verse,  it  has  nothing  to  add  to  its 
poetical  quality.  It  may  even  be  hostile  to  it, 
for  it  may  provoke  a  mood  incompatible  with 
that  which  the  essential  qualities  of  poetry  com 
bine  to  induce. 

Somewhat  akin  to  irony  is  the  element  of 
humor  in  such  satirical  forms  as  the  mock- 
heroic  poem  and  the  mock -epic.  In  these, 
the  loftiness  of  style  of  the  kind  of  poem 
burlesqued  produces  an  expectation  which  is 
at  once  contradicted  by  the  actual  matter  of 
the  satire ;  and  this  incongruity  is  the  source 
of  the  humor  throughout.  In  this  by  itself 
there  is  little  or  nothing  to  contribute  to  poet 
ical  effect.  The  mock  element  is  merely  a  comic 
framework;  yet  it  may  enclose  poetry  either 
in  the  direct  satire,  or  in  the  imitation  of  the 
epic  or  heroic  style  in  itself.  This  last  is  nat 
urally  rare  and  difficult,  yet  it  was  accom 
plished  in  the  great  close  of  Pope's  Dunciad. 
Here  the  make-believe  of  the  epic  of  Dulness 
seems  finally  to  have  taken  possession  of  the 


262  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

poet's  imagination,  an  illusion  of  a  higher 
kind  of  reality  is  produced,  and  a  sort  of 
poetic  faith  takes  the  place  of  the  conscious 
hyperbole  which  has  sustained  the  satire  hith 
erto.  Protest  against  stupidity  is  at  last  seen 
to  be  useless,  and  in  a  genuine  imaginative 
flight  the  poet  prophesies  the  final  conquest 
of  the  universe  by  the  enemies  of  light : 

In  vain,  in  vain  —  the  all-composing  Hour 

Resistless  falls  :  the  Muse  obeys  the  Pow'r. 

She  conies  !  she  comes  1  the  sable  Throne  behold 

Of  Night  primaeval  and  of  Chaos  old  ! 

Before  her,  Fancy's  gilded  clouds  decay, 

And  all  its  varying  Rain-bows  die  away. 

Wit  shoots  in  vain  its  momentary  fires, 

The  meteor  drops,  and  in  a  flash  expires. 

As  one  by  one,  at  dread  Medea's  strain, 

The  sick'ning  stars  fade  off  th'  ethereal  plain ; 

As  Argus'  eyes  by  Hermes '  wand  opprest, 

Clos'd  one  by  one  to  everlasting  rest ; 

Thus  at  her  felt  approach,  and  secret  might, 

Art  after  Art  goes  out,  and  all  is  night. 

See  skulking  Truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled, 

Mountains  of  Casuistry  heap'd  o'er  her  head ! 

Philosophy,  that  lean'd  on  Heav'n  before, 

Shrinks  to  her  second  cause,  and  is  no  more. 

Physic  of  Metaphysic  begs  defence, 

And  Metaphysic  calls  for  aid  on  Sense  ! 

See  Mystery  to  Mathematics  fly  ! 

In  vain  !  they  gaze,  turn  giddy,  rave,  and  die. 

Religion  blushing  veils  her  sacred  fires, 

And  unawares  Morality  expires. 

For  public  Flame,  nor  private,  dares  to  shine  ; 


HUMOR  IN  POETRY  263 

Nor  human  Spark  is  left,  nor  Glimpse  divine  ! 
Lo  !  thy  dread  Empire,  CHAOS  !  is  restored  ; 
Light  dies  before  thy  uncreating  word  ; 
Thy  hand,  great  Anarch  !  lets  the  curtain  fall. 
And  universal  Darkness  buries  All. 


We  may  now  sum  up  the  relation  of  humor 
to  the  various  types  of  poetry  with  which  we 
have  been  mainly  concerned. 

In  romantic  poetry  in  general,  poetry  in 
which  there  is  a  marked  predominance  of  im 
agination,  we  have  found  humor  to  be  notice 
ably  rare,  so  that  in  the  leading  romantic  poets 
of  the  age  of  Wordsworth  we  have  not  been 
able  to  find  illuminating  examples.  This  has 
not  been  surprising.  In  real  life  every  one  has 
observed  the  absence  of  humor  in  people  of  a 
strongly  romantic  tendency;  and,  in  our  own 
romantic  moods,  our  flights  into  ideal  realms 
are  apt  to  be  checked  by  the  intrusion  of  even 
a  momentary  glimpse  of  ourselves  as  ludicrous. 
If  it  is  difficult,  as  the  philosophers  have  al 
ways  saidr  to  be  in  Invft  and  to  be  wiseT  itjis^ 
still  more  difficult  to  be  a  romantic  lover^an d 
retain  a  sense  of  humor^For  the  more  roman 
tic  a  mood  is,  the  more  does  the  imagination 
soar  above  the  hampering  restrictions  of  the 


264  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

reasonable,  the  traditional,  and  the  actual; 
while  one  of  the  commonest  sources  from 
which  humor  springs  is  the  contrast  between 
the  subjective  imaginative  view  and  the  facts 
as  presented  by  common  sense. 

In  classical  poetry  this  difficulty  does  not 
exist.  The  different  aspects  of  what  we  have 
called  the  reason  dominant  in  poetry  of  this 
type  —  the  critical  judgment,  the  sense  of 
fitness,  the  feeling  for  restraint  and  modera 
tion,  the  avoidance  of  excess,  the  harmony  of 
means  with  ends,  the  respect  for  the  normal, 
the  tendency  to  follow  tradition  which  has  been 
tested  by  experience  —  these  aspects  remain 
uninjured  by  the  power  of  perceiving  the  in 
congruous.  Many  of  them,  indeed,  are  such 
as  to  reinforce  that  power.  It  is  natural,  then, 
that  in  the  poetry  of  classical  periods  humor 
should  be  much  more  abundant  than  in  roman 
tic  periods.  Writers  greatly  concerned  with 
congruity  in  their  work  will  be  quick  to  per 
ceive  the  incongruous,  and  to  use  it  for  or 
nament,  for  emphasis,  and  for  relief.  But  in 
classical  poetry  imagination,  though  restrained, 
is  not  absent.  It  is  only  when  the  classical 
tendency  runs  to  a  vicious  excess,  when  re 
spect  for  tradition  and  the  care  for  form 


HUMOR  IN   POETRY  265 

degenerate  into  mere  convention  and  manner 
ism,  that  the  balancing  element  of  imagination 
is  reduced  to  the  vanishing  point.  Then  hu 
mor  is  apt  to  assume  some  of  the  vitalizing 
functions  of  the  lost  imagination,  and  there 
results  a  superabundance  of  satirical  writing, 
such  as  we  find  in  the  pseudo-classical  verse  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  Yet  even  in  this  satire, 
when  it  has  true  classical  quality,  we  have  seen 
the  possibility  of  the  coexistence  of  humor  and 
imagination,  the  imagination  being  already 
disciplined  by  common  sense. 

Realistic  poetry,  also,  has  no  antipathy  to 
the  humorous.  The  fact,  as  well  as  the  reason, 
affords  a  sharp  contrast  to  man's  vain  imag 
inings  and  pretences ;  and  realism,  going 
about  its  own  business,  might  be  expected  to 
stumble  upon  many  instances  of  the  humorous. 
If  we  are  right  in  classifying  the  great  mass 
of  satire  of  the  individual  as  realistic,  in  con 
trast  with  classical  satire  of  the  type,  we  have 
in  our  satirical  poetry  much  more  abundant 
examples  of  realistic  than  of  classical  humor. 
From  Jonson  and  Dryden  to  Burns  and  Byron 
our  literature  is  rich  in  close  transcripts  of 
actual  persons  and  conditions,  enlivened  with 
a  vast  variety  of  humorous  contrast.  Here,  as 


266  ESSENTIALS   OF  POETRY 

in  the  neo-classical  poetry,  the  danger  is  in 
the  subsidence  of  imagination;  but  when  it  is 
present  in  sufficient  force  to  dress  the  poetical 
balance,  it  has  been  shown  here  also  to  be 
compatible  with  humor. 

There  is  another  danger  to  which  realistic 
humor,  when  satirical  in  purpose,  lies  pecul 
iarly  open.  A  constant  weapon  of  satire  is,  of 
course,  exaggeration ;  and  exaggeration  may 
be  employed  —  and  here  imagination  helps 
rather  than  hinders  —  for  the  production  of 
genuinely  humorous  effect.  But  when  the  force 
behind  the  exaggeration  is  not  imagination 
but  merely  malice  and  hatred,  humor  itself 
disappears,  and  satire  sinks  into  bald  invec 
tive. 

Humor,  in  its  perennial  search  for  incon 
gruity  between  appearance  and  reality,  natur 
ally  finds  a  rich  feast  in  the  performances  of 
the  sentimentalist.  To  this  tendency  it  is,  for 
the  most  part,  directly  hostile  and  destruc 
tive  ;  and  society  instinctively  lays  its  hand  on 
humor  as  the  appropriate  weapon  in  its  con 
flict  with  this  disease.  But  between  wholesome 
sentiment  and  humor  there  is  no  such  antag 
onism.  In  what  has  been  said  of  the  restricted 
meaning  of  humor,  humor  when  it  appears  in 


HUMOR  IN  POETRY  267 

combination  with  a  kindly  and  sympathetic 
attitude  towards  men  and  things,  we  have  al 
ready  indicated  its  power  of  harmonizing  with 
genuine  sentiment,  and  even  of  intensifying  it. 
It  is  mainly  under  this  special  aspect  that 
humor  enters  into  poetry  of  the  first  rank, 
poetry  so  exquisite  in  its  balance  that  it  is  no 
longer  fitly  labelled  with  the  name  of  any  one 
tendency.  Here,  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  brought 
through  the  element  of  sympathy,  into  rela 
tion  with  imagination;  and,  in  the  greatest 
poetry,  not  with  imagination  tamed  and  shac 
kled,  but  free  and  of  infinite  possibilities,  yet 
controlled  and  directed  by  laws  which  it  recog- 
nizes  as  beneficent. 


CONCLUSION 

THE  topics  enumerated  in  the  program  laid 
down  in  the  first  chapter  have  now  been 
discussed ;  none  of  them  has  been  exhausted. 
The  central  position,  that  the  essential  nature 
of  poetry  is  complex,  not  simple,  has,  it  is 
hoped,  been  made  clear,  since  it  is  difficult  to 
see  how  any  of  the  fundamental  factors  we 
have  examined  can  be  denied  a  place  in  its 
constitution.  Even  if  the  definitions  of  these 
factors  which  have  been  proposed,  and  the 
illustrations  of  their  manifestations  which  have 
been  offered,  may  not  always  have  carried 
conviction,  the  discussion  need  not  have  been 
futile,  for  we  can  be  agreed  upon  the  existence 
and  the  distinctness  of  two  adjacent  territories 
without  being  completely  in  harmony  as  to 
where  at  all  points  the  boundary  should  run. 

In  accordance  with  the  view  stated  at  the  out 
set,  no  attempt  at  a  final  definition  of  poetry 
has  been  made.  The  formula  presented  is 
only  one  of  many  ways  that  might  be  sug 
gested  of  approaching  the  problems,  practical 
and  theoretical,  which  offer  themselves  for 
solution  to  the  serious  student  of  poetry.  If 


CONCLUSION  269 

this  formula  is  sound  as  far  as  it  goes,  it  has 
some  evident  advantages.  It  gives  an  intelli 
gible  and  consistent  content  to  those  hard- 
worked  counters  of  the  critical  game,  —  ro 
mantic,  classic,  realistic,  sentimental.  This  is 
done  at  the  inevitable  cost  of  narrowing  here 
and  there  the  field  over  which  common  usage 
has  applied  these  terms ;  but  such  narrowing 
is  justified  if,  as  I  think,  nothing  has  been 
excluded  which  has  not  been  shown  to  belong 
more  appropriately  elsewhere ;  and  if  the  re 
maining  content  is  a  unified  conception. 

It  makes  it  possible  to  use  these  terms  im 
partially  as  describing  a  prevailing  tendency, 
without  implying  that  any  of  the  tendencies, 
when  properly  balanced  and  restrained,  is  a 
symptom  of  decadence,  or  is  in  itself  artistically 
vicious.  It  explains  why,  as  one  ascends  in  the 
scale  of  poetry,  one  is  more  and  more  reluctant 
to  apply  to  the  greatest  achievements  the 
names  of  any  school  or  any  movement,  by 
showing  that  in  this  field,  as  in  so  many  others, 
supreme  excellence  lies  in  perfection  of  bal 
ance. 

Finally,  it  affords  a  point  of  view  sufficiently 
elevated  to  enable  the  critic  to  survey  all  periods 
and  all  tendencies,  to  appreciate  the  enthusi- 


270  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

asms  and  the  preferences  of  each,  as  well  as  to 
recognize  their  excesses  and  their  limitations. 
Apart,  however,  from  the  finality,  and  even 
from  the  complete  logical  validity  of  such  a 
view  as  I  have  been  trying  to  expound,  it 
may  find  a  pragmatic  defence,  if  I  may  use 
the  slang  of  the  hour,  in  its  power  of  shedding 
illumination  upon  the  poetry  we  read.  Critical 
theory  may  be  regarded  either  as  an  attempt  to 
contribute  to  aesthetics  as  a  branch  of  philoso 
phy  or  psychology,  as  the  laying  of  one  stone 
in  a  theoretical  construction  of  the  universe ;  01 
as  a  means  of  clearing  our  vision  and  sharpening 
our  sensibilities  with  a  view  to  a  more  intense 
enjoyment  of  art.  My  interest  has  been  chiefly 
in  the  latter.  In  the  application  of  these  theories 
to  the  work  of  the  English  poets,  I  have  my 
self  found  my  eyes  opened  not  only  to  causes 
but  to  effects  which  had  before  been  obscure 
or  only  half-consciously  perceived ;  and  in 
the  abundant  illustrations  with  which  I  have 
sought  to  water  the  dry  places  of  the  argu 
ment,  it  is  hoped  that  the  reader  may  find, 
not  merely  refreshment  for  the  moment,  but 
an  increased  and  abiding  sense  of  beauty. 

A  question  naturally  arises  as  to  how,  under 


CONCLUSION  271 

the  definitions  which  have  been  proposed,  we 
are  to  label  the  poetry  of  our  own  day ;  and  a 
glance  at  this  question  may  appropriately  close 
the  discussion. 

The  dominant  intellectual  interest  of  our 
time  is,  of  course,  scientific ;  and  this  fact 
would  lead  us  naturally  to  look  for  the  pro 
minence  in  contemporary  art  of  the  element 
of  truth  to  fact.  In  some  fields,  notably  in 
fiction  and  the  drama,  this  expectation  is  ful 
filled.  The  names  of  Balzac,  Flaubert,  Mau 
passant,  Zola,  Ibsen,  and  Tolstoi,  on  the  con 
tinent  of  Europe,  of  George  Eliot  and  Thomas 
Hardy  in  England,  of  Howells  and  James  in 
America,  suggest  how  widely  and  under  what 
a  variety  of  phases,  naturalistic,  psychological, 
and  sociological,  has  appeared  the  tendency  to 
emphasize  truth  to  actual  experience  in  the 
artist's  picture  of  life.  Traces  of  the  same  in 
fluence  are  to  be  found  in  poetry,  as,  for  in 
stance,^  some  aspects  of  the  work  of  Kipling ; 
yet  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  as  yet  this  art 
has  entered  on  a  predominatingly  realistic 
period.  For  in  poetry,  whether  we  regard  the 
practice  of  the  writers  or  the  tastes  of  the 
readers,  we  are  still  in  the  romantic  age.  We 
have  been  trying  in  these  discussions  to  main- 


272  ESSENTIALS  OF  POETRY 

tain  an  attitude  of  detachment,  and  to  acquire 
criteria  that  would  yield  us  as  just  a  judgment 
of  the  work  of  Jonson  and  Pope  as  of  that  of 
Scott  and  Tennyson  ;  and  with  an  effort  we 
may  have  succeeded  in  keeping  our  expressed 
opinions  free  from  personal  and  contemporary 
bias.  But  since  the  reassertion  of  the  place  of 
imagination,  now  more  than  a  hundred  years 
ago,  this  quality  has  come  more  and  more  to 
be  taken  for  granted  as,  in  a  special  sense,  the 
essential  of  poetry.  We  have  suffered,  and  we 
suffer  still,  from  a  defect  of  the  classical  quali 
ties,  both  in  creation  and  in  appreciation :  we 
have  much  to  gain  from  a  greater  reverence 
for  tradition,  a  finer  sense  of  the  beauty  of 
restrained  and  regulated  form,  a  more  rigorous 
intellectual  discipline.  But  since  we  "do  not 
yet  seem  prepared  to  reach  and  to  maintain 
ourselves  upon  the  mountain  top  of  perfect 
proportion,  since  we  needs  must  belong  to  a 
party  and  find  our  inspiration  in  a  one-sided 
view  of  truth,  I  cannot  feel  it  is  so  unfortun 
ate  as  some  have  found  it  that  the  dominant 
element  in  the  poetry  which  most  powerfully 
appeals  to  our  generation  is  that  of  imagina 
tion.  In  an  age  when  the  progress  of  man's 
conquest  of  nature  has  brought  him  to  a  con- 


CONCLUSION  273 

dition  where  the  senses  are  wooed  ever  more 
and  more  insistently  and  seductively,  when  the 
house  of  a  man's  soul  is  cumbered  with  the 
abundance  of  the  things  that  he  possesseth, 
when  the  multifarious  Actual  clamors  for  our 
attention  with  a  thousand  tongues,  when  con 
templation  is  an  impossibility  and  leisure  a 
dream,  in  such  an  age  it  is  well  that  when  we 
turn  to  poetry  for  solace  and  refreshment,  we 
should  find  it  animated  by  that  faculty  that 
can 

Uphold  us,  cherish,  and  have  power  to  make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 
Of  the  eternal  Silence. 


THE   END 


INDEX 


Addison,  72,  165,  182;  Pope's 
portrait  of,  123  f. 

Adonais,  160. 

^Eneid,  104,  108  ff. ;  quoted,  108. 

Alastor,  160. 

A  man  's  a  man  for  a'  that,  78, 
221. 

Antaeus,  137. 

Anti-Jacobin,  57,  84. 

Antique  art  not  all  "classical," 
104  ff. 

Antony  and  Cleopatra,  176. 

Arabian  Nights,  40. 

Aristotle,  1,  105, 114  ff.;  on  imi 
tation,  10 ;  on  the  means  em 
ployed  in  poetry,  11 ;  study  of, 
in  the  Renascence,  18  ;  Poetics 
quoted,  41 ;  on  the  universal, 
41  ;  and  neo-classical  criti 
cism,  114;  and  the  probable, 
115  ;  and  "seriousness,"  193. 

Aristophanes,  161. 

Aristotelian  theology,  54. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  100, 151,  243 ; 
Sohrab  and  Rustum,  quoted, 
181 ;  Study  of  Poetry,  190  ff., 
255  f . ;  his  "  high  serious 
ness,"  192  ff. ;  and  Gray,  192, 
19(5;  and  Chaucer,  191  ff. ; 
and  Burns,  192  ff. ;  neglect  of 
humor,  255  f. ;  neglect  of 
structure  in  art,  255. 

M  Art  for  Art's  sake,"  102. 

As  You  Like  It,  243  ff. ;  quoted, 
244. 

"Atticus,"  Pope's  portrait  of, 
quoted,  123  f.,  165, 182. 

Auld  Robin  Gray,  218. 

Austen,  Jane,  57. 

Bacon,  his  division  of  human 
learning,  9 ;  his  use  of  ''  Mem 


ory,"  10,  n.  1 ;  his  new  science; 

68. 

Baillie,  Grizel,  218. 

Balance  of  qualities,  chap.  I , 
269 ;  in  the  Renascence,  16  ff . ; 
in  Shakespeare,  20  ff. ;  in  the 
critic,  25  ff. ;  in  Pope,  124 ;  in 
Keats,  132  f. ;  in  Landor,  133 
ff.,  196  ff. ;  symbolized  by  a 
mountain,  168  f . ;  in  Gray, 
195  f. ;  and  humor,  267. 

Balzac,  271. 

Bartholomew  Fair,  162  f. 

Bernbaum,  E.,  214. 

Bishop  orders  his  Tomb,  The,  69. 

Black-eyed  Susan,  218. 

Blake,  his  vogue  delayed,  27, 
49  ;  quoted,  45 ;  his  imagina 
tive  intensity,  202. 

Braes  of  Yarrow,  The,  218. 

Browning,  Mrs.,  quoted,  105. 

Browning,  Robert,  69 ;  Old  Pic 
tures  in  Florence,  quoted,  55 ; 
Abt  Vogler,  quoted,  96 ;  How 
They  brought  the  Good  News, 
201 ;  quoted,  198. 

Burns,  49,  73,  88,  202 ;  quoted, 
45, 147, 177, 193,  251,  265 ;  and 
democracy,  78  f . ;  his  Realism, 
146  ff.,  166;  classification  of 
his  poems,  147  ;  My  Name 's 
awa,  quoted,  148  f. ;  his  lyric 
quality,  147  ff.  ;  his  satire, 
149  ff. ;  The  Jolly  Beggars, 
150,  194,  245,  256,  quoted, 
186  f. ;  Intensity  in,  177,  186 
f.  ;  and  M.  Arnold,  192  ;  To  a 
Mouse,  220  ff. ;  and  sentiment- 
alism,  220  ff. ;  To  a  Daisy, 
220  ff. ;  his  poems  to  Clarinda, 
222  f. ;  imagination  and  hu 
mor  in,  250  f . ;  Tarn  o'  Shan 


876 


INDEX 


fer,  quoted;  250;  humor  in, 
256. 

Byron,  49,  88,  93,  202,  265 ;  his 
contemporary  popularity,  27 ; 
and  Rousseau's  "  Golden 
Age,"  84  if. ;  The  Island, 
quoted,  84  f .  ;  his  landscape, 
91  ff. ;  Manfred,  quoted,  91 ; 
non-romantic  elements.  129 
ff. ;  and  Pope,  130 ;  Childe 
Harold,  130,  232  ff. ;  his  sat 
ire,  131  f.,  165  f. ;  DOM  Juan, 
131,  166;  Hints  from  Horace, 
165 ;  English  Bards,  165  ;  The 
Waltz,  166  ;  and  sentimental- 
ism,  227  ff. ;  early  lyrics 
quoted,  230  f . ;  Oriental  tales, 
233  ff.;  Don  Juan,  235  ff., 
quoted,  236  f.,  239,  248 ;  sen 
timent  and  humor  in  Don 
Juan,  239,  248  f.;  a  humor 
ist,  246  f.,  265. 

Calvinistic  system,  18. 

Carey,  218. 

Castle  of  Indolence,  The,  quoted, 
138  f. 

Castle  of  Otranto,  The,  57. 

Cenci,  The,  quoted,  159. 

Chateaubriand,  61. 

Chaucer,  Tales  of  Miller  and 
Reeve,  52;  Realism  in,  109  ff., 
167 ;  Prologue  to  C.  T.,  256, 
quoted,  109  f.;  and  M.  Arnold, 
191  ff. ;  Pardoner's  Tale, 
quoted,  193;  alleged  lack  of 
"high  seriousness,"  192  ff.; 
Wife  of  Bath's  Prologue, 
quoted,  194  ;  humor  in,  256. 

Childe  Harold,  130,  232  ff. 

Childless  Father,  The,  225  f. 

Clarissa  Harlowe,  215. 

Classical,  chap.  IV, passim;  dif 
ferent  uses  of  the  term  dis 
tinguished,  102  ff. ;  Arnold's 
definition,  102  f. ;  as  antique, 
104  ff. ;  in  architecture,  106  f.  ; 
vs.  romnntic,  106  f.  ;  vs.  real 
istic,  107  ff.;  periods,  112  *?. 


Classicism,  8,  chap,  iv,  136 ;  de~ 
fined,  13  ;  in  antiquity,  10 !  ff. ; 
contrasted  with  romanticism, 
106  f  ;  with  realism,  107  ff. ; 
and  the  typical,  108 ;  and  the 
traditional,  109;  in  Pope,  121 
ff. ;  in  Milton,  125  f. ;  in  Ro 
mantic  period,  126  ff.;  in 
Wordsworth,  128f.;  in  Byron, 
130  ff. ;  and  satire,  131,  160, 
265  ;  in  Jonson,  161  f. ;  in  Mo- 
liere's  satire,  163  f .  ;  and  In 
tensity,  179  f. ;  and  Humor, 
245,  264  ff. 

Coleridge,  1,  91,  93,  130;  Kubla 
Khan,  43  f.,  91,  155;  and  the 
French  Revolution,  76  f. ;  Re 
ligious  Musings,  quoted,  76  f. ; 
Christabel,  91;  The  Ancient 
Mariner,  91,  93  ;  Frost  at  Mid 
night,  quoted,  95  ;  his  imagina 
tive  descriptions,  95  f .,  155  ; 
on  the  Lyrical  Ballads,  224  ; 
humor  in.  246. 

Columbus,  16. 

Comedie  larmoyante,  214. 

Constructive  Imagination,  37  ff. 

Copernicus,  17,  68. 

Coriolanus,  252. 

Corneille,  113. 

Corsair,  The,  130. 

Cotter's  Saturday  Night,  The, 
150;  sentiment  in,  205  f.; 
sentimentalism  in,  222. 

Cowper,  88,  89;  his  Realism, 
142  f. ;  The  Task,  quoted,  143  ; 
and  humanitarianism,  220  f. 

Crabbe,  49,81,  88,89,  223;  his 
Realism,  143  ff. ;  his  Intensity, 
202. 

Cranford,  188 ;  quoted,  189. 

Criticism,  value  of,  26, 270 ;  neo- 
classic,  114  ff. 

Dante,  44,  192. 

Decorum  in  neo-classic  criticism, 

115. 
Definition  of  poetry,  failure  to 

arrive  at,  1  ff.,  268  f. 


INDEX 


271 


Dekker,  7. 

Democracy,  76  ff. 

Deserted  Village,  The,  144. 

Dibdin,  218. 

Dickens,  103. 

Divine  Comedy,  44. 

Dobson,  Austin,  Dialogue  to  the 
Memory  of  Mr.  Alexander 
Pope,  quoted,  183. 

Doctor  Faustus,  quoted,  46. 

Don  Juan,  131,  1(36;  complexity 
of,  235  f . ;  sentiment  in,  236  f . ; 
passion  in,  236  f . ;  humor  in, 
239  f.,  248  f. ;  deliberate  anti 
climax  in,  248  f . ;  quoted,  236 
f.,  239,  248. 

Donne,  quoted,  45. 

Dramatic  unities,  114. 

Drummond,  Wm.,  quoted,  46. 

Dryden,  72, 113, 124  ff.,  164, 192, 
265. 

Duchess  ofMalfi,  TAe,73;  quoted, 
175. 

Ecstasy  and  poetic  experience, 
171  ff.  See  Intensity. 

Eighteenth-century  characteris 
tic  mood,  71  f. ;  M.  Arnold  on, 
100 ;  criticism,  113  ff. 

Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard, 
195. 

Eliot,  George,  271. 

Emerson,  quoted,  66. 

Emotion  in  poetry,  28  ff.,  170  ff. ; 
and  imagination,  177  ff.  See 
Intensity. 

Endymion,\32, 157;  quoted,  158. 

English  Bards  and  Scotch  Re 
viewers,  165. 

Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  quoted, 
123  f. 

Essay  on  Criticism  quoted,  116 
f.;  criticized,  119  f. 

Essay  on  Man,  127. 

Euripides,  romantic  elements  in, 
105. 

Eve  of  St.  Agnes,  quoted,  36  f., 
18.S. 

Ex<  ursion,  126  ff. ;  quoted,  127. 


Fabliaux,  52. 

Falstaff,  256. 

Fancy,  36  f.  See  Imagination. 

Faust,  7,  44. 

Feeling,  rights  of,  207  f . 

Flaubert,  271. 

Flowers  of  the  Forest,  The,  218. 

Form  in  art,  11,  101  f. 

French  Revolution,  The,  60,  61, 

75  f. 
Frost  at  Midnight,  quoted,  95. 

Gaskell,  Mrs.,  188  f. 

Gawain  and   the  Green  Knight, 

105. 

Gay,  John,  218. 
Genie  du  Christianisme,  61. 
Giaour,  The,  130. 
Godwin,  William,  84. 
Goldsmith,  144. 

Gorky's  Night  Asylum,  187,  n.  \» 
"  Gothic  romances,"  57,  58. 
Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  7. 
Gourgaud,  General,  59. 
Gray,   Arnold    and,    192,   196; 

Elegy,  195 ;  a  little  master,  196. 
Greek    sculpture   vs.    medieval 

art,  55. 

Hardy,  Thomas,  271. 

Hazlitt,  Wm.,  "gusto"  in,  170. 

Heine,  50,  52. 

Henry  IV,  quoted,  193. 

Hints  from  Horace,  165. 

Homer,  114,  192. 

Horace,  114. 

Howells,  W.  D.,  271. 

Humanism,  17. 

Humanitarian  movement,  220  f. 

Humble  life,  poetry  of.  79  ff. 

Humor,  in  poetry,  31,  chap.  VIII ; 
defined,  242  f . ;  and  reason ,  245 ; 
and  the  sense  of  fact,  245  ;  ab 
sence  of,  in  romantic  poets,  246 
f. ;  and  imagination,  ?47  ff., 
265  ;  sympathetic  humor,  249 
ff. ; and  pathos,  251  ff. ;  in  +rag- 
edv.  254.  2fiO  ;  ironical,  2.">7  If. : 
and  Romanticism,  246  ff.,  20o  • 


278 


INDEX 


and  Classicism,  245,  264  f.; 
and  Realism,  245,  265  f . ; 
and  Sentimentalism,  210,  216, 
266. 

Ibsen,  271. 

Ideal  imitation,  10  f . 

Iliad,  104. 

Imagination  in  poetry,  9,  chap, 
ii ;  in  the  Renascence,  16  f .  ; 
and  memory,  33  ff . ;  and  asso 
ciation,  35  ff. ;  and  observation, 
33  ff. ;  and  fancy,  36  ;  Con 
structive  or  Creative,  37  ff. ; 
Recollective,  33  ff.  ;  in  sci 
ence  and  philosophy,  38  f.  ; 
as  creator  of  mood,  44  ff.  ; 
and  the  ideas  of  Time,  Space, 
Death,  and  Fate,  45  ff. ;  and 
subjectivity,  65  ff.  ;  and  emo 
tion,  75  f. ;  and  democracy, 
76  ff. ;  and  scenery,  89  f . ;  and 
intensity,  177  ff. ;  in  Arnold's 
definition  of  poetry,  191 ;  and 
sentimentalism,  228  f. ;  and 
humor,  247  ff.,  265  ;  and  irony, 
259  f. ;  and  satire,  122  ff.,  261 
ff . ;  dominant  in  contemporary 
poetry,  272  f . 

Impressionistic  criticism,  26. 

Intensity  in  poetry,  28  ff.,  chap. 
VI ;  other  names  for,  169  f. ; 
and  the  length  of  a  poem,  172 
ff. ;  Poeon,  172  ff. ;  illustration 
of,  175  ff.,  203;  and  imagi 
nation,  177  ff.  ;  in  classical 
art,  178  ff. ;  and  Realism,  184 
ff. ;  and  rhythm,  197  ff. ;  and 
the  balance  of  qualities,  203  ; 
in  Don  Juan,  236  ff. 

Iphigeneia,  quoted,  133  ff. 

Irony,  243 ;  defined,  257  ff . ;  in 
Shakespeare,  257  ff. ;  of 
events,  258;  of  Fate,  258; 
dramatic,  258  ;  tragic,  258  ff . ; 
comic,  259. 

J  stood  tip-toe,  quoted,  94. 

7  would  I  irere  a  careless  child. 
quoted,  231 


James,  Henry,  271. 
Jeffrey,  Francis,  223  f. 
Johnson,  Samuel,  6,  27, 113, 124 
Jolly  Beggars,    The,    150,    194, 

245,  256 ;  quoted,  186  f . 
Jonson,  Ben,    272  ;     as   satirist, 

161  ff.,  265;  Volpone,  161  f . ; 

Bartholomew  Fair,  161,  162  f. 

Keats,  7,  88,  130;  Eve  of  St. 
Agnes,  quoted,  36;  When  1 
have  fears,  quoted,  64 ;  as  ro 
mantic  lyrist,  64  f . ;  his  imagi 
native  descriptions,  94  f. ;  I 
stood  tip-toe,  quoted,  94 ;  En- 
dymion,  132, 157 ;  quoted,  158 ; 
excess  of  imagination  in,  132 ; 
Realism  in,  156  ff. ;  Intensity 
in,  185  f. 

King  John,  211,  quoted,  252. 

King  Lear,  176,  254,  256. 

Kipling,  271 ;  quoted,  73. 

Kubla  Khan,  43  f.,  91,  155. 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  The,  154. 

Landor,  133  ff.,  238 ;  his  lack  of 
intensity,  196  ff. ;  Eose  Ayl- 
mer,  197 ;  Iphfgeneia,  quoted, 
133  f. ;  Hellenics,  197. 

Laodamia,  128  f. 

Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  3. 

Lewis,  "Monk,"  57. 

Lines  written  above  Tintern  Ab^ 
bey,  42,  151. 

Litany  (Nashe's),  quoted,  46. 

Literary  epochs,  5,  6. 

Longfellow,  206. 

Luther,  69. 

Lycidas,  180. 

Lyric,  predominance  of  in  Ro 
mantic  periods,  61  ff. ;  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  62  f . ;  in 
Burns  and  Shelley,  147  ff. 

Lyrical  Ballads,  3;  plan  of, 
224  f. 

Macbeth,  176. 

Mackenzie's  Man  of  Feeling, 
216. 


INDEX 


279 


Macpherson,  James,  219  ff. 

Manfred,  quoted,  91. 

Man  of  Feeling,  The,  216. 

Marlowe,  quoted,  46. 

Marmion,  quoted,  155  f. 

Maupassant,  271. 

Measure  for  Measure,  quoted, 
249  f . 

Medieval  element  in  Romanti 
cism,  50  ff. 

Medieval  religious  spirit,  54. 

Meredith,  141. 

Michelangelo,  16,  68. 

Middle  Ages,  other-worldliness 
of,  19;  and  Romanticism, 
60  ff . ;  not  stationary  or  uni 
form,  51  f. 

Milton,  192 ;  on  passion  in  po 
etry,  28  ;  Paradise  Lost, 
quoted,  45,  179 ;  our  greatest 
classical  poet,  126 ;  Samson 
Agonistes,  126,  179,  quoted, 
176 ;  Lycidas,  180. 

Mock-epic,  261. 

Mock-heroic,  261. 

Moliere,  113  ;  and  classical  sat 
ire,  163  f. 

Mont  Blanc,  quoted,  92. 

My  Nanie  '*  awa,  quoted,  148. 

Mysteries  of  Udolpho,  The, 
57. 

Nashe,  quoted,  46. 

Nature,  meaning  of,  in  18th  cen 
tury,  115  f.  See  Return  to  Na 
ture. 

Neo-classicism,  114 ;  and  pseudo- 
classicism,  118,  n.  1. 

New  World,  discovery  of,  16. 

Northanger  Abbey,  57. 

Observation,  poetic  vs.  scientific, 

33  ff .   See  Sense  of  fact. 
Occasional  poetry,  226  f. 
Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn,  133. 
Ode  to  a  Nightingale,  133. 
Odyssey,  104  f. 
Old  English  Baron,  The,  57. 
Ostt'an/218  ff. 


Othello,  115,  176. 

O  world,  O  life,  O  time,  quoted, 

148. 

Paradise  Lost,  quoted,  45,  179. 

Pardoner's  Tale,  quoted,  193. 

Passion  and  sentiment,  204 ;  and 
sentimentalism,  209;  in  Don 
Juan,  236  ff. 

Pater,  Walter,  90  f . ;  quoted,  7. 

"Pathetic  fallacy,"  149. 

Pericles,  Age  of,  16. 

Phidias,  16. 

Philips,  Ambrose,  144. 

Plato,  romantic  elements  in,  105. 

Platonic  element  in  medieval 
mysticism,  54. 

Poe,  E.  A.,  172  ff.,  178;  quoted, 
173. 

Poetic  diction,  141  f. 

Poetics  (Aristotle's),  41. 

Poetry,  definition  of,  1  ff.,  268  f . ; 
a  compound,  2,  268 ;  Arnold's 
definition  of,  191. 

Pope,  6,  64,  70,  88,  113,  126, 
139,  161, 164, 192,  261  f.,  272; 
Rape  of  the  Lock,  121  f. ; 
quoted,  72 ;  Essay  on  Criti 
cism,  quoted,  116  f. ;  and  the 
ancients,  1 16  ff . ;  poetical  qual 
ity  of,  119  ff.;  his  satire,  122 ff.; 
Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  165, 
182,  quoted,  123;  Essay  on 
Man,  127;  and  Byron,  130; 
Windsor  Forest,  141 ;  pas 
torals,  144 ;  Dunciad,  quoted, 

Prior,  218. 

Prometheus     Unbound,    quoted, 

45. 

Protestant  Reformation,  17  f. 
Pseudo-classic,  118  and  n.  1. 
Pseudo-medievalism,  56  ff. 
Pseudo-romanticism,  56  ff. 
Puritan  Revolution,  71. 

Racine,  113. 
Radcliffe,  Mrs.,  57. 
Ramsay,  Allan.  218. 


280 


INDEX 


Rape  of  the  Lock,  The,  a  classical 
masterpiece,  121  f. 

Rape  of  the  Lock,  The,  quoted, 
72. 

Realism  defined,  13  ;  in  descrip 
tions  of  Thomson,  89 ;  of 
Cowper,  89;  of  Crabbe,  89; 
vs.  classicism,  107  ff . ;  and 
sense  of  fact,  chap,  v ;  often 
ignored  in  poetry,  136  f. ;  in 
prose  fiction,  138,  271;  con 
fused  with  Romanticism, 
138  ff. ;  in  Thomson,  139  ff.  ; 
in  Cowper,  142  ff. ;  in  Crabbe, 
143  ff . ;  in  Burns,  146  ff. ;  in 
Wordsworth,  151  ff. ;  in  Scott, 
154  ff. ;  in  Keats,  157  f . ;  ab 
sence  of,  in  Shelley,  158  ff. ; 
in  Ben  Jonson,  162  f . ;  in 
Chaucer,  167  ;  and  Intensity, 
183  ff . ;  and  humor,  245,  265  f. 

Reason  in  art,  11;  in  the  Re 
nascence,  17  ff. ;  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  54 ;  and  Classicism, 
chap.  iv. ;  defined  as  a  factor 
in  literature,  100  ff. ;  and  the 
neo-clasaic  rules,  118 ;  in 
Pope,  119ff. ;  and  the  per 
ception  of  incongruity,  245. 

Reeves,  Clara,  57. 

Renascence,  as  exhibiting  bal 
ance  of  qualities,  16  ff. ;  "  re 
turn  to  nature  "  in,  68  f. 

"  Renascence  of  Wonder,"  90. 

Resolution  and  Independence, 
quoted,  184  f. 

"Return  to  Nature,"  50;  as  a 
phase  of  Romanticism,  68-96  ; 
ambiguity  of  phrase,  68  f. ; 
in  the  Renascence,  68  f . ;  and 
Rousseau,  74 ;  used  of  human 
nature,  71-87 ;  used  of  exter 
nal  nature,  87-96. 

Reverie  of  Poor  Susan,  The,  81. 

Richard  //,  quoted,  21  If. 

Richard  HI,  252. 

Richardson,  Samuel,  215  f . 

Rhythm  and  Intensity,  197  ff . ; 
imitative,  198 ;  suggestive, 


198  £.;  in  Browning,  198;  in 
Tennyson,  198  f . ;  exciting  ef 
fect  of,  199  ff. ;  and  popularity, 
200  ;  in  Wordsworth,  201. 

Rogers,  Samuel,  To  a  Tear, 
quoted,  62. 

Romances  of  adventure,  53. 

Romanticism,  8 ;  defined,  13 ; 
and  imagination,  chap,  in; 
as  Medievalism,  51-60;  and 
pseudo-romanticism,  65  ff. ;  as 
ideal  aspiration,  53-60 ;  as  sub 
jectivity,  60-68;  as  reaction, 
70,  74 ;  as  "  return  to  nature," 
68-96  ;  and  democracy,  76-83 ; 
and  the  Golden  Age,  83-87; 
and  description  of  external  na 
ture,  87-96;  as  "  Renascence 
of  Wonder,"  90;  Pater's  defi 
nition  of,  90  f. ;  in  antiquity, 
104  f . ;  contrasted  with  classi 
cism,  106  f . ;  in  The  Excursion, 
126  ff.;  in  Byron,!  29  ff.,  232  ff.; 
confused  with  Realism,  138  ff . ; 
in  Thomson,  138  f.;  in  Burns, 
147  ff. ;  in  Scott's  landscapes, 
154  ff. ;  and  sentimentalism, 
220 f.,  227 ff.;  and  humor, 
246  ff.,  263 ;  dominant  in  po 
etry  to-day,  272  f . 

Romantic  period,  meaning  of, 
15 ;  application  of  phrase,  27; 
in  France  and  Germany,  98. 

Romantic  School  in  Germany, 
50 ;  in  France,  50. 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  210  f. ;  quoted, 
253  f .,  259 ;  irony  in,  258  f . 

Rose  Aylmer,  197. 

Rousseau,  J.  J.,  73  f. ;  and  sen 
timentalism,  74,  215;  and  the 
Golden  Age,  84  ;  and  the  right! 
of  feeling,  207  ff. 

Sally  in  our  Alley,  218. 

Samson  Agonistet,  126,  179, 
quoted,  176. 

Satire  in  Pope,  122  ff.,  165,  182, 
261  ff. ;  not  always  classical, 
131,  161;  in  Byron,  131  f. 


INDEX 


261 


165  f . ;  in  Burns,  149  ff . ;  classi 
cal  and  realistic  distinguished, 
160  ff. ;  in  Ben  Jonson,  161  ff. ; 
in   Shakespeare  and  Moliere, 
163  f . ;  and  Intensity,  202 ;  and 
imagination,    246   f. ;     poetic 
quality  of,  246, 261  f . ;  in  mock- 
heroic  and  mock-epic,  261  f . ; 
and    exaggeration,   266;   and 
invective,  266. 

Schoolmen,  54. 

Schools  of  literature,  5. 

Scott,  3, 49, 88,  93,  157,  272 ;  his 
contemporary  popularity,  27; 
as  a  medievalist,  58  f . ;  his  ob 
jectivity,  66  f . ;  his  Realism, 
254  ff. ;  Lady  of  the  Lake,  154 ; 
Mar  mi  on,  quoted,  155. 

Seasons,  The,  89,  142;  quoted, 
143. 

Sensationalism,  240  f. 

Sense  of  fact  in  art,  10 ;  in  the 
Renascence,  19;  in  Chaucer, 
110-111;  and  Realism,  chap. 
V ;  its  function  in  poetry,  1 36  ff ., 

166  ff . ;  and  Intensity,  184  ff.  ; 
and  perception  of  incongruity, 
245;  in  modern  fiction,  271. 

Sentiment,  in  poetry,  31,  204  ff.; 
defined,  204 f.;  distinguished 
from  sentimentalism,  209  ;  in 
18th-century  songs,  218;  in 
Don  Juan,  236  f . 

Sentimental  drama,  213  ff. 

Sentimentalism  in  literature,  31, 
chap,  vii ;  and  subjectivity,  65 ; 
definition  of,  208  f. ;  and  humor, 
210,  216,  266  ;  in  characters  in 
Shakespeare,  210ff. ;  in  the 
drama,  213  ff.;  moral  weakness 
of,  215 ;  in  Rousseau,  215  ;  in 
Richardson,  215  f. ;  in  Mac 
kenzie,  216;  in  Sterne,  216  f. ; 
in  Ossian,  218  ff. ;  and  Roman 
ticism,  220  f .,  227  ff. ;  and  sub 
jectivity,  228  f. ;  in  Byron, 
227  ff. ;  and  sensationalism, 
240  f. 

Shakespeare,  7, 16, 192,  196 ;  as 


culmination  of  the  Renascence, 
20 ;  balance  of  qualities  in, 
20  ff . ;  his  Realism,  20  ff. ;  ra 
tional  element  in,  22  f . ;  imag 
inative  element  in,  23  f. ;  Venus 
and  Adonis,  quoted,  20 ;  Troilus 
and  Cress i da,  quoted,  22  ;  Tem 
pest,  quoted,  23  ;  Sonnets,  quot 
ed,  45  ;  his  objectivity,  66 ;  and 
Moliere,  163  f . ;  quoted,  176; 
Henry  IV,  quoted,  193 ;  and 
Sentimentalism,  2 10 ff. ;  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  210  f.,  quoted, 
253  f.,  259;  King  John,  211, 
quoted,  252;  Richard  II, 
quoted,  211  f. ;  Twelfth  Night, 
quoted,  212  f .,  257 ;  sympa 
thetic  humor  in,  249  ff. ;  Mea 
sure  for  Measure,  quoted,  249  f . ; 
humor  and  pathos  in,  252  f . ; 
Richard  III,  252  ;  Coriolanus, 
252 ;  Winter's  Tale,  252  ;  chil 
dren  in,  252  f . ;  King  Lear,  176, 
254,  256 ;  Falstaff ,  256  ;  irony 
in,  257  ff. ;  Two  Gentlemen,  259. 

Shelley,  49,  88,  93,  156  ;  quoted, 
45,  148 ;  his  subjectivity,  66 ; 
his  landscape,  92;  Mont  Blanc, 
quoted,  92  ;  lyricism,  148 ;  de 
scriptive  poetry,  158  ff. ;  The 
Cenci,  159  f . ;  his  imaginative 
intensity,  202;  absence  of 
humor,  246. 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  2. 

Solitary  Reaper,  The,  quoted, 
81  f. 

Sophocles,  16,  114. 

Southey,  221. 

Spenser,  139 ;  absense  of  humor 
in.  246. 

Standards  of  taste,  3. 

Sterne,  Laurence,  216  f. 

Stewart,  J.  A.,  171  n.  1. 

Structure  in  art,  255. 

Study  of  Poetry,  The,  190. 

Subjective  element  in  Roman 
ticism,  50,  60-68;  in  France, 
60  f . ;  in  Sentimentalism,  65. 

Subjectivity,    50,    60-68;    and 


282 


INDEX 


Sentimentalism,  65,  228,  f . ; 
and  Imagination,  66  ff. 

Supernatural  in  art,  40  ;  in  med 
ieval  romance,  53 ;  in  "  Gothic 
romance,"  56  ff. ;  in  Lyrical 
Ballads,  224 ;  in  sensational 
ism,  240. 

Swift,  72,  124,  164. 

Symons,  Arthur,  197. 

Tarn  o'Shanter,  150;  quoted,  250. 

Task,  The,  89  ;  quoted,  143. 

Tempest,  The,  23. 

Tennyson,  189  f.,  272;  Lotos- 
Eaters,  quoted,  177 ;  Ulysses, 
quoted,  177  ;  Princess,  quoted, 
198  f .,  257  ;  Crossing  the  Bar, 
199. 

Thomson,  James,  49,  88,  89; 
Castle  of  Indolence,  quoted, 
138  f . ;  Seasons,  142 ;  quoted, 
143. 

Thorn,  The,  225 ;  quoted,  153. 

Tintern  Abbey,  Lines  written 
above,  42,  151. 

To  a  Daisy  (Burns),  220  f. 

To  a  Daisy  (Wordsworth), 
quoted,  34-36,  41. 

To  a  Mouse,  220  f . 

To  a  Tear,  62. 

To  Caroline,  230. 

To  Emma,  230. 

To  Romance,  231  f. 

To  the  Unco  Guid,  150. 

Tolstoi,  271. 

Tom  Bowling,  218. 

Treasure  Island,  105. 

Troilus  and  Cressida,  22. 

Twelfth  Night,  quoted,  212  f., 
257. 

Two  Gentleman  of  Verona,  259. 

Universal  in  art,  41. 

Venus  and  Adonis,  21. 
Verisimilitude  in  neo-classic  crit 
icism,  116. 


Village,  The,  89 ;  quoted,  144  f . 

Villon,  192. 

Virgil,  104;  quoted,  108  f. 

Vogue  in  literary  history,  27  f. 

Volpone,  161f. 

Voltaire,  61. 

Waller,  113. 

Walpole,  Horace,  and   pseudo* 

medievalism,  56  f . 
Watts-Dunton,  90. 
Webster.  John,  73,  175. 
Wife  of  Bath's  Prologue,  quoted, 

Winter's  Tale,  The,  252. 

Windsor  Forest,  141. 

Wit  and  poetry,  261. 

Wolfram  von  Eschenbach,  53. 

Wollstonecraf  t,  Mary,  84. 

Wordsworth,  1,3,  6,  37,  49,  70, 
88,  130,  157;  on  emotion  in 
poetry,  28,  170 ;  To  a  Daisy, 
quoted,  34-36,  41;  on  Con 
structive  Imagination,  37  f. ; 
Lines  written  above  Tintern 
Abbey,  42  f.,  151  ;  interpreta 
tion  of  Nature,  42,  94 ;  and  the 
French  Revolution,  77  f.,  221 ; 
Prelude,  quoted,  77  f . ;  Reverie 
of  Poor  Susan,  81,  quoted, 
201 ;  The  Solitary  Reaper, 
quoted,  81  f.,  177;  Michael, 
83,177;  Excursion,  126ff., 
quoted,  151  f. ;  Laodamia, 
quoted,  129;  classical  ele 
ments  in,  126  ff. ;  realistic  ele 
ments  in,  151  ff. ;  The  Thorn, 
153,  225;  Intensity  in,  184  f., 
202 ;  Resolution  and  Indepen 
dence,  quoted,  184  f . ;  and  sen- 
timentalism,  223  ff.  ;  Lyrical 
Ballads,  224 f.;  The  Childless 
Father,  225  f . ;  absence  of 
humor  in,  246  ;  Intimations  of 
Immortality,  quoted,  273. 

Zola,  40,  271. 


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